Raven, Abducted
by Aya Dormouse
Summary: "You were the opposite of everything I was, from the color of your hair to your eyes to the confidence you exuded. And me, I'm a pile of insecurities and awkward and not nearly as beautiful; not to mention a servant. I don't even have a name, Oz." Ozbert, AU
1. Prologue I: Oz

**Raven, Abducted**

**Warning: **abuse including implied rape of a minor, OOC, AU, tons of angst and fluff

**A/N****: **I will tell you now that this story will be long. I am currently just 4k shy of 100k words. I'm excited to finally begin posting this and I'd love feedback to keep me going. I debated using a new username for this fic because I honestly think my old writings are horribly embarrassing, but maybe I've just matured as a writer. I hope. I'd just like to mention that these characters have matured in very different environments than the canon, and it shows in their personalities. This is a heavy love story between two broken boys. Please enjoy. Also, I'm so sorry, Gilbert. ;A;

* * *

**Prologue I: Oz**

* * *

October 24th, 1855

Oz fingered the buttons on his coat, frowning at the absence of his coach driver. It had been over fifteen minutes since the departure time he'd given! Okay, so maybe more like _five_ minutes, but it sure felt like fifteen. Or maybe an hour. It was _cold_, even though it was only October. He wanted to get home to his warm mansion, maybe demand a hot cup of tea, and retire to his bedroom for at least a few days before he had to do all this noble nonsense again.

Being a noble was such damn hard work. The number of noblemen of his rank actually fell quite small, but once you factored in brothers, sisters, half-brothers, half-sisters, cousins, _second_ _cousins..._ The number of parties was just too damn high. Not to mention it _doubled_ since he'd turned fifteen.

He swore in frustration and dug his heel into the carriage floor, then delighted in the soft thud of his forehead smacking against the glass of the small window to his right. He was alone tonight, a result of his sour attitude and threat to fire any of his servants who so much as _thought_ about accompanying him tonight (which included following in a separate carriage, which one had made the mistake of doing on one occasion).

His frown deepened, but despite all outward appearances, his mood was surprisingly mild; bitter but tolerant, it simply made him feel better to pout and pretend that there was someone around to notice. The blonde shifted his head against the cold pane of glass, his frustration succumbing to numbness with each driver-less minute, and he reached his fingers into his pocket to fish out the pocket-watch he always carried. He rarely took it out, but he never felt sound without the weight of it against his breast. He ran the pad of his thumb over the cuts and grooves of the surface and pursed his lips in distaste. It's not that he didn't like the watch itself, but rather felt bitter toward the fact that _this_ was the only gift his father had ever given him, and it was broken.

Scoffing, he gave into temptation and flicked the button holding the two delicate golden sides together, and he was met with... silence. As if he should have expected more.

'Hmph,' he pouted and leaned back up against the window. It was raining now, gentle patters of a drizzle on the roof resounding throughout the small carriage room. This party began as a brunch, and now the late light afternoon sky was quickly overturning to a dark gray as clouds sped in to take its place.

He watched in slight dissociated amusement as the drizzle became a full-on downpour and the other departing guests had to run for cover. At least he was safe and dry while he waited for his soon-to-be-not driver to show up.

_'Honestly,' _he sighed in exasperation, '_I could be robbed at gunpoint and left for dead and no one would be around to act as a witness.'_

He huffed a little in wry amusement as he acted out the twisted fantasy in his head.

"_Hey, hey, you there," a gruff, dirty, pathetic looking man would say. He'd hold the gun up to the window. I'd probably notice the moonlight reflecting off the barrel as I spoke my last words. A romantic until the end, huh?_

_The words would feel heavy in my mouth, because like now, I'd be half asleep against the window and desperately, maddeningly _bored_._

"_I don't have any money nor do I have anything of value to you," I'd say half-assed, just loud enough to hear through the carriage doors in a practiced tone, as I caress the velvet pouch containing more gold than this man has in hairs._

_When have words ever really saved anyone?_

The fantasy broke then at what he would assume to be the moment the gun was shot. There was probably something wrong with him if he wouldn't even flinch at his own death, but then rules don't really apply to fantasies, do they?

When his eyes refocused, he continued to stare blankly outside. He peeled his forehead off the glass and rubbed at the inevitably red spot before quickly becoming distracted by the last guests to be reaching their carriage.

A man, middle-aged, with a conventional, indistinct face (probably a Nightray, he noted) was walking briskly toward his carriage parked just down the road from his own. With him was a younger boy with dark hair and frail looking limbs weakly holding an umbrella up high in the air in an attempt to keep the older man dry. A servant, Oz assumed. The boy was struggling against the wind and was obviously shivering from his own sacrifice as the umbrella was much too high to provide him any relief from the rain.

Oz let his eyes drift away from the pair, now (_finally)_ seeing his driver making his way out of the mansion. What the hell kind of business would a carriage driver have with the Rainsworth family? He didn't particularly care what the man did with his time when he wasn't needed, but damnit, now he was late!

His figure disappeared behind a line of carriages queued to exit the lot, and his attention once again drifted back to the Nightray and servant duo.

The pair now stood in front of the carriage, and – Oz sat up a little straighter in his seat – the umbrella lay in the gutter, obviously inside out and useless. Clearly he'd missed something - another tally against the godforsaken driver.

The boy bent over half in apology and his wet, wavy hair clung to his cheeks and neck in a pathetic display and Oz suppressed the desire to exit his cabin and knee him in the gut. Instead, he clicked his tongue and wrinkled his nose.

Nobody should look that pitiful.

He watched as the man ordered him to stand and tried to get a good look at the boy's face, but it was impossible from this distance with the rain obscuring his vision. He was pale, very pale, though, with wavy black hair that reminded him of seaweed, especially with the way it clung wetly to his skin.

He felt the carriage rock slightly; the driver must've taken his seat. But now he was interested in what was going on across the street. Leave it to this man to return just in time to sabotage his curiosity. He definitely had to go. Momentarily distracted by his thoughts, his attention was quickly redirected to the pair when the man stepped into the carriage and oh- oh shit.

The boy yanked his hand out from between the door and the frame and the man inside slammed it again, now unobstructed, and cradled his now battered and probably broken hand to his chest with a hiss. His other arm lifted to brush the hair and tears of pain from his eyes.

Oz jumped when his carriage started forward and he barely suppressed a yelp, instead choosing to knock as a signal to stop.

The carriage stopped.

"Young master?"

He felt slightly shaken, though he knew it was just a natural reaction of nerves from seeing another human being get hurt. How other masters treated their servants was none of his concern – hell, maybe he'd deserved it. Against his better judgment, he continued to study the boy across the street. He didn't seem much younger (if at all) than himself.

'Couldn't that man at least dress his servants better? Honestly, what an embarrassment.'

It had nothing to do with how that servant was now violently shivering, most likely from a mixture of shock, pain, and cold, as he climbed up front with the driver.

It didn't.

Because it had nothing to do with him.

Because, really, all he had were words and when have words ever really saved anyone?

He knocked again and leaned away from the window, losing himself to the calming friction between the wood and the gravel and the clack of the horse's hooves on the soaked earth.


	2. Prologue II: Gilbert

**Raven, Abducted**

******Warning: **abuse including implied rape of a minor, OOC, AU, tons of angst and fluff

**A/N**: Thank you for the reviews, I'll reply when I get a chance. They mean a lot. Really. Please enjoy, R&R.

* * *

**Prologue II: Gilbert**

* * *

Hey, Oz,

Do you remember the first time we met?

For me, it was like breathing for the first time. One moment I didn't know of you, and the next you were embedded so forcefully in my life it would be days before I could surface from the memory.

To be more accurate, you couldn't keep your eyes off me and my hands shook with the intensity of your gaze. I wanted to cower in my self-consciousness, but I was trapped.

I wanted to tell you, "Don't look at me, I'm nothing."

Because, really, I was nothing.

You looked away when I looked at you, and my hands felt clammy and I felt my pulse in my cheeks.

I wondered if it was my new suit because I knew it was silly, but I had little choice in the matter.

I have little choice in any matter.

My master danced and I pretended to watch from my place on the wall while I entertained the idea of you speaking to me, but then I reminded myself that I was unworthy and that I was the bottom of the barrel.

You were the opposite of everything I was, from the color of your hair to your eyes to the confidence you exuded. And me, I'm a pile of insecurities and awkward and not nearly as beautiful; not to mention a _servant._

It was silly really, you probably never noticed me in the first place and here I am fantasizing about catching your attention, if even for a split moment. I'm a fly on the wall, only noticed when I'm needed by the man who I serve to the best of my abilities, which don't amount to much.

I don't even have a name, Oz.

I wondered, if you had asked, what I could have given as a response because simply _Gilbert_ didn't seem sufficient, but then again, what could I ever give you that would seem sufficient?

Anything I had ever had to give had been taken by this man. But he's not so bad, really, once you get past his temper. It's me, honestly, I'm the one who can't perform his duties to the degree of professionalism that he wants. I ask for it; I'm far too selfish and wanting for my own good.

I'm damaged and desperate for attention I never deserved and would never know what to do with if I were to obtain it.

So as I clenched and unclenched my sweaty hands and glanced over to you, I was glad to see your spot empty because there's so much more than me available to you. And I remind myself that you weren't even looking at me, I'm just a fly on the wall and I shrink as I'm used to, becoming small so I can open my eyes and be home, alone, like always; away from emerald eyes that overwhelm me and make my legs shake like the child I used to be (still am).

I believe I'm simply enduring life, rather than living it. If I shut down and wait long enough, I'll have moved forward by the time I become aware again.

That's how I've been living for the last thirteen years, but that night I was unfortunately reminded of just how unfair that is. Because I'm too selfish and wanting and uncomfortable in my own skin, skin that isn't even mine, skin that barely has a name.

For a moment that night, I wasn't just _Gilbert_, the one without a past, present, future, or family name.

I was Gilbert and I felt necessary.

But now I realize, staring blankly at the previously inhabited spot across the room, I'm not.

Of course not.

And as such, everything is in its right place and I can go on enduring.

Because soon I'll open my eyes and I'll be alone again.

And I should be happy with that.

But now I can't go to a party without looking for your face.

That was the first time we met.

The second time was a little over a year later, which was much too soon in my opinion.

I was waiting in the hallway as instructed, shifting my weight from sore foot to sore foot and fidgeting with the edges of my too-long sleeves. I felt guilt in the relief I was feeling from hearing the distant thump of the headboard against the wall beyond the door across the hall. At least it wasn't me. I was shaking slightly, but I mistook the trembling in my lower back and knees for a chill, rather than for what it was. I'd memorized the pattern of the carpet, a deep burgundy with gold accents, and noted how the matching wallpaper was slightly asymmetric and peeling at the corners and faded about the candlesticks, which at this point held too much wax to be aesthetically pleasing.

The hallway was oddly muted and comforting, given the sound-absorbing qualities of the many feet of fabric lining the windows and floors. It was so quiet and I was so lost that I didn't even hear you before I was almost visibly startled by your appearance in front of me. You had your hands behind your back and I recognized it as a pompous gesture, but to me it looked like you were hiding behind it and it eased my alarm slightly.

I didn't expect you to stop because you surely didn't come here for me, not to mention my inherent invisibility. But you did, you stopped a few feet to my right so all I could see was your back and the curve of your cheek. I remember hoping you couldn't hear what my master was doing and feeling my face redden in shame, as if I were the one sullying the bed.

You stopped, but you didn't say anything. And then your foot picked up and you took a step forward; I could see the indent in the plush carpet and briefly wondered if my feet made the same impression, but then doubted it.

But then you surprised me and you took a step backward and glanced at me sideways and I averted my eyes to look at nothing at all. I wondered if there was the slight possibility that my presence in this spot was somehow inconveniencing you and if I had a breath I would use it to apologize.

You spoke then and my eyes widened at the irony of the question, the one question I didn't want you to ask but also the only question that made any sense for you to ask me,

"What is your name?"

I wondered what you would think if I said I had been dreading that question from you since the first time we met, and almost laughed at how absurd it was that I had even thought that we _had_ met even once, when surely your eyes had barely grazed the spot on the wall that was me and how absurd it was that I would think you would even ever speak to me.

I ignored the voice telling me that you, in fact, did eventually speak to me.

My throat was dry and I panicked, thinking I must've taken too long to respond and you would somehow not be standing there anymore.

"Gilbert," I said, but it was too quiet I think, because you straightened up and began to inch away. And I think of how I could never ignore you, even in a sea of people.

I jolted then, unfamiliarly filled with intense desire to _act_, and I stepped forward so we were at least (only) six steps apart.

"Gilbert," I repeated, "It's Gilbert." Just Gilbert.

Because I needed you to hear my name.

You stopped again, and for once I didn't feel shame, but instead curiosity. I wanted to know your name, even if I didn't understand why.

But the shame resurfaced when you turned around and the banging of the headboard stopped, and you looked at me then to the door and then back at me. Your face was carefully blank, I noticed, your expression unreadable, but your eyes were wise and omniscient. At least that's how I remembered them.

I know better now. But you looked at me, and you told me you were Oz. Just Oz.

You were more than just Oz and it made me angry, thinking you were patronizing me, but now I know that we weren't really all that different after all.

You were Oz, just Oz, but necessary Oz.

And you were beautiful.


	3. Chapter I: The Incident

**Raven, Abducted**

**Warning: **abuse including implied rape of a minor, OOC, AU, tons of angst and fluff

**A/N:** Thank you all for the feedback, I absolutely love getting reviews and favorites and follows /tear. This is the first real chapter, so please enjoy (you sadist, you).

* * *

**Chapter I: The Incident**

* * *

_January 3rd, 1858_

Oz saw the exchange before he heard the accompanying crash. The sound reverberated throughout the room, halting conversation and song and instead, drawing attention to the doorway to the ballroom. It took the gasps of the other guests for Oz to react, and when he did so, he did so blindly.

The man began screaming in his shrill slurred speech, inhumane threats spilling from his mouth and blending together into a mess that had Oz's head reeling from rage. The body next to him finally collapsed, a delayed response that made the situation seem even more grave in its suspense. The man, the monster, lifted his heel and dug it into black hair now matted gruesomely with blood. The blonde saw red, an irrational anger filling him to the brim.

The room exploded and so did he.

Some guests screamed, others stopped and stared, some grabbed the monster by various limbs in an attempt to tame it, most pushed toward the exits to flee before police investigation.

As for Oz, all he saw was the bloody, limp body of the boy who called himself Gilbert.

What if he was dead?

Another human, broken and defeated, as others watched, as others fled, and he himself had seen the warning signs – that day with the umbrella, the broken hand, that vacant expression that simultaneously irritated but intrigued him. It would be his fault, wouldn't it? So this boy couldn't be dead, because Oz would be the murderer; he promised he wasn't responsible, he was only an observer, he couldn't help even if he tried, and he didn't, but now...

Now he raced forward, unsure of what his plan was but just knowing he needed to act and he couldn't be noticed, but who would notice him anyway in this wild throng of people, of things, disgusting things he tried so hard to love who _ran_, just like he had -

He reached the body, unsurprised and relieved to find him abandoned, the women checking their shoes as they ran out fearfully as if they'd been soaked in blood. But no, the blood was soaked into his hair, the thick black seaweed hair he'd never seen up close before, and ventured down each pore of his white skin to his slightly parted mouth. Bits of glass were strewn around his body, the bottom half of the smashed wine bottle sitting upright and just daring someone to fall on its sharp edges. Was the house shaking or was it himself?

He'd barely met him but somehow he knew him better than anyone else in the room.

He turned at a loss, suddenly aware of the monster that did this, but he was propped up against the far wall and held down by several servants. It was the sight of the police heading toward his slumped over body that forced him to act. He could let them settle this, let the monster win, pleading a "drunken mistake" and flaunting the Nightray name that would land the boy back in the same situation again, or worse. With that thought, he was already gathering the boy up and using the chaos to his advantage as he slipped out of the room, struggling a bit under the dragging weight pressed against his side. It was hard to get a good grip, but the adrenaline rush gave him the energy he needed to haul him forward, away from the dangers of the questioning police.

He leaned against the wall for a moment to catch his breath and to make his next move, but the sound of a door banging open jolted him from his position and he quickly grabbed the first doorknob he saw and rushed inward. The momentum from the door closing behind him – it was loud, but at least the other guests were making enough sound that maybe the slam was masked – caused him to stumble forward and he was unable to catch himself due to the boy's body now in front of his feet, and he panicked as he fell and at the last minute cradled that already bloody head to his chest as they tumbled to the floor.

Oz stayed like this a moment, breathing hard, panting with suddenly overly heavy limbs. He sat up and to the side, his legs over the boy's chest in a V and rested his forehead on his knees. His hands were stained red and he didn't quite know where to put them, so he held them out in front of him awkwardly. In fact, suddenly the whole situation was awkward. He was now stuck in a closet hiding from the police covered in the blood of a boy he didn't even know. He was involved now whether he liked it or not.

The corners of his lips upturned a bit, the only warning before sudden giggles erupted from his chest and he caught them in his throat before they could escape. This was entirely too ridiculous.

He sobered up and looked down, finally feeling level-headed, and as an afterthought pushed up off the floor shakily to lock the door. It didn't sound like anyone had followed them, but they were in a risky spot – how cliché was it to hide in a broom closet, not to mention only a couple of doors away from the scene of the crime?

Speaking of which... he turned back to the boy, lying on his back in what looked to be a rather comfortable position. Would he... have a pulse? With the amount of clothing he was wearing and the dim lighting, he couldn't see his chest rising or falling.

His heart beat slightly with trepidation when he knelt beside the boy. Reaching a hand out to his face, he faltered; if he was dead, he was trapped in a closet with a corpse. The thought didn't sit too kindly in his previously violence-free mind, and he swallowed the excess saliva pooling around his tongue to stave off the nausea. He wished he'd paid more attention when he'd been taught basic first aid, like how to find a pulse, or how to stop bleeding. Both of which would be useful at this moment. He figured if anyone were to get hurt, it'd be him, and it'd be a servant's job to attend to him.

'Oh,' he realized, he'd brought a servant with him and he wondered briefly where he might've gone. 'Oh well...'

This... what would he do? He couldn't carry the boy to his carriage without being noticed. This situation was bad. He could still slip away and leave him here...

...but he'd never do that.

Hesitantly, he curled his fingers around one of the boy's wrists, shifting a bit to lift his lacy sleeve enough, and blinked at how cold his skin was. But it wasn't _dead_ cold, at least he didn't think so though he had no idea how cold dead was.

Was he doing this right?

He didn't feel anything, no movement of blood. It seemed like all the blood he'd have was soaked down his front.

Releasing his wrist, he tentatively placed two fingers against the boy's neck as he recalled a servant once doing to an older servant who was said to have died from a heart attack. He moved them around, feeling silly and frowning in concentration.

He jumped when said boy gave a small groan and shifted his head just a bit. Well, if that was any indication...

Suddenly Oz didn't want him to wake up, because what would he say?

He could still leave, he could still -

"Uh?"

Well, so much for that.

A pale hand rose from the depths of his velvety sleeves and grasped at his arm. Oz flinched away, shrugging it off and scooting backward until his back hit the shelves behind him. He watched as the boy hissed and his hand redirected to his head where he gingerly touched the gored patch on the crown. As soon as the boy saw the blood, Oz started forward and covered his mouth with the palm of his hand to stifle the shriek he could see building. Their eyes met then, and confusion and shock and tears registered in gold as his own wordlessly pleaded with him to stay quiet and to not panic. Instinctively, he turned his head to the door and listened, watching for shadows of footsteps, but found none.

It was a little odd really, was this really the extent of their concern for the boy?

Maybe they just assumed that with a wound like his, they'd find him hunched over and bloodied somewhere eventually.

His own servant would be waiting at the carriage, he hoped; it wouldn't do to have him probe the halls looking for him.

At the reassurance of the silence outside the door, he turned back to the boy and realizing he was still covering his mouth, released it and sat back. He averted his eyes from the tear tracks that disappeared into the hairline by his ears.

From the corner of his eye, he saw him try to lift himself up and focused on a dark spot on the shelf by his feet. He'd done enough to help by dragging him all the way in here.

The boy gasped and used the shelves next to him as leverage, succeeding in sitting up but obviously fighting a dizzy spell or two.

Oz braced himself for the inevitable.

"What... um, happened?"

He sounded almost delirious, as if he didn't believe this was real. The reminder of the force behind the wine bottle that monster sent into his skull flared the blonde's temper once again.

He clenched his teeth and hid his eyes behind his bangs, sitting back to rest his elbows on his bent knees.

He kept his voice controlled and even, "You... got hurt, and I moved you here."

"Hurt...? How... why?"

He chose not to answer; his job was done, the boy was safe, how and why didn't matter and he wasn't obligated to answer his questions.

But wait.

He'd locked them both in a broom closet in order to keep the boy from returning to his abusive master.

An abusive master who would definitely be wondering where he is.

One that expects him to come back or show up eventually.

And now, he was here, so... where would he go after this?

Oz hadn't thought that far ahead; all he worried about was getting him out, checking for a pulse, hoping he hadn't locked himself in with a corpse and bloodied his clothes for no reason... But where would he go now, if he wasn't returning home?

Somehow the thought of simply sneaking him into the Vessalius mansion made his heart quicken a step. Suddenly it all felt too real. He realized that he had a dissociated fascination with this boy, a boy he was never supposed to know or ever become involved with; instead he'd simply observe him from afar, like others, and he wouldn't be real, just a thought.

But the blood on his shirt and the questioning glances told him he was very much real and now his responsibility. That is, assuming he didn't _want_ to return to his master.

If he did, he wouldn't stop him. It's none of his business.

"Um... M-mister Oz?"

Mister... huh?

"Oz," he corrected. Not that he particularly cared what he called him, of course, but rather the formalities were troublesome.

He felt a small fragment of relief knowing this boy had remembered his name just like he had his.

"What are we hiding from?"

Ah, his response to that would decide their fates from now, it seemed. He was suddenly on the defensive, worried his actions were all in vain and that he should've left him out cold in a pool of his own blood and wine. He could be home by now, concerned with himself and only himself. Because other people aren't worth it. He leaned back and let out a breath; the response didn't matter. If he left, he'd leave and Oz would find a way to slip out undetected. He'd say a drunk simply slopped wine down his front and he'd been in the washroom ever since. And the boy would return to his abusive master and die for all he'd care. But on the other hand... he'd really have no choice but to smuggle him into his own mansion, accept him as a person in his life rather than just a passing intriguing element. As if that hadn't already happened, but he assured himself it hadn't.

So, he sighed, with no choice but to gauge the boy's reaction and act accordingly, he replied, "Your master."

He had one eye closed, but had the other trained on his face from under his bangs. The raven looked confused and looked over at him, studying him, and Oz fought the urge to shift.

"I... did he... what did he do?"

The blonde blinked his eyes open.

"You don't sound surprised."

He'd have to act stupid to reaffirm his already supported theories. He couldn't admit to having seen and remembering a similar act in the past.

"N-not really. Why... why are we here?"

Oz sighed inwardly, his anger at the situation misplaced as frustration upon the wounded boy.

"We're hiding."

The confusion fell from his face, but he didn't respond to the sarcasm. Somehow that silence rubbed him the wrong way. Telling himself it was to move the plans along rather than to ease his sudden guilt, he asked, "So... what do you want to do?"

"What?" was the immediate response.

Oz swallowed and shifted to cross his arms across his chest in an act of nonchalance. It was a wonder how this boy could only say infuriating things and yet it was only his silence that aggravated him.

This was embarrassing. He closed his eyes.

"Gilbert, I'm offering you a way out."


	4. Chapter II: Gilbert's Decision

**Raven, Abducted**

**Warning: **abuse including implied rape of a minor, OOC, AU, tons of angst and fluff

**A/N: **Thank you for the feedback as always! For now, it seems like I'll be updating this fic on Sundays and Wednesdays, but I can't guarantee any specific time of day.

* * *

**Chapter II: Gilbert's Decision**

* * *

This was embarrassing. He closed his eyes.

"Gilbert, I'm offering you a way out."

He braced himself for the immediate yes or no, more than half expecting him to pick up and leave from where he came from because actually taking him home seemed more like a dream than reality. But it didn't come, so he opened his eyes to investigate the delay.

Gilbert was openly staring, his gold eyes wide in a way that definitely didn't just make his pulse leap to his ears. Oz looked everywhere that wasn't at him, growing increasingly uneasy as the minutes passed and he just continued to stare, obviously speechless.

Eventually the blonde sighed, and the other sobered enough to ask, "Out as in..."

"...with me, yes."

There was no way his face was red, not at all.

"But I don't... I mean you don't..."

"...know you? And yes, you don't know me either. As far as you know, I'm just another psycho. Do you want to or not?"

The tension was killing him and he didn't know why. What this boy did with his life was not his concern. He was simply helping him because there was nothing else to do, that's all, so it was not worth getting worked up about.

"Um... so you... want me to serve you...?"

Oz looked at him sideways. He just needed him to come with him, it wasn't necessarily permanent, and who said anything about _serving_ him...?

"Well, I don't know, maybe... whatever, we'll see."

A 'no' might cause him to decline, but a 'yes' seemed too binding. And besides, he was simply caught off guard by the question. Of course it was a no. But would a no be admitting he was afraid of having a connection to this boy? So in that case...

...definitely a maybe.

A silence began to build again, but he wouldn't let it.

"So is that a no then?"

"I will."

What?

"I'll come with you."

Oz told himself his heart was only racing because he'd have to worry about how to escape with the bloodied, broken mess that was this boy. He glanced over and golden eyes locked onto his, searching for honesty, as if the blonde had chosen to go through the trouble of hiding him in a closet, running the risk of damaging his own reputation, all to break his spirit and leave him to (probably) die. If not now, then eventually.

Obviously this boy didn't know him. He'd never put so much effort into anything just for his own entertainment. Especially not when the stakes were so high.

He nodded and made to stand. His joints popped in protest of having been stuck in one position for too long and he straightened his spine. Looking down, he surveyed the mess on his shirt and began formulating a plan.

The red of the blood and the wine was soaked through his cravat down to his white button down shirt. But really, the two colors mixed surprisingly well, so well that no one would be likely to notice the difference. Assuming policemen or servants were stationed outside, which was highly probable, he'd need to distract them somehow and buy him enough time to get the boy out. He sighed, trying in vain to hide his cravat further beneath his green suit coat. After a few moments of defeat, he looked down at the boy with his hands on his hips.

"Can you stand?"

He wasn't asking for reassurance that he was in fact, alive and okay, but only because he needed to make sure they could make a speedy escape. Right. Maybe both. But the former only a little.

"I-I don't know," he said, looking guilty, as if he'd done something horribly wrong. It was irritating. The boy avoided his eyes and bit his lip, then braced himself against a shelf and began hoisting himself up. It was rather pitiful, and the blonde was torn between assisting him and protecting the boy's pride by allowing him to try on his own. So instead, he stood there awkwardly.

"Um..."

"S-sorry, um... ugh, I need..." he said as he finally stood, wobbling a bit. If the hand over his mouth was any indication, the movement was obviously quite taxing. Moving quickly, he located a bucket and practically threw it (inwardly swearing in hopes that it wasn't too loud) on the ground in front of the boy and turned away as the boy emptied his stomach contents.

Oz had no experience with head wounds, especially ones that might've caused a... con-... -cussion? Was that the word? After this, he'd definitely need to crack open a medical textbook.

Unfortunately, and fortunately, the heaves quickly turned into dry heaves and then after a few minutes, he didn't hear anything else so he chanced a look behind him. The boy was covered in a thin layer of sweat and looked deathly pale, but then again, maybe he was always that pale. He looked up and mustered a small sheepish, apologetic smile that definitely didn't tug on any of his heartstrings because he didn't have any to begin with and that was just silly.

"Uh... sorry. I'm okay now," he said, steadying himself with one hand as he stood up again. His eyes looked a little glassy.

"Stop apologizing," Oz muttered, and the boy just nodded, too tired or spaced out to respond. "Anyway, here's the plan."*

After explaining his plan, albeit not a fullproof one, he turned to grasp the doorknob and took a deep breath.

"Wait," he heard, and he stopped, surprised by the urgency in the weak voice.

"Yeah?"

"Don't... this is wrong. I should just go out there, y-you shouldn't be doing this for me. I don't have a reputation to withhold like you do. You can still leave. He'll come after me, you know. He might... ah, he might try to hurt you or something when he finds out -"

"Stop," he said, and the boy did. "Do you know which family I come from?"

"N-no, why...?"

He didn't know why he was explaining this to him when he could easily just leave and execute the plan without his permission, but for some reason he wanted him to understand that he was escaping and he wouldn't fail. How would it be if this fell through and the boy had his first taste of freedom only to have it snatched at the last second? Even he, who considered himself detached from anyone and everything, couldn't let that happen. He was taking charge.

Suddenly life wasn't so boring. This was all kinds of exciting.

He turned back from the door and stepped closer so he wouldn't have to speak up.

"I'm a Vessalius. Your master, a Nightray?"

He watched the boy's eyes widen in realization and he nodded as confirmation.

Oz noticed that now they were both standing their heights were actually comparable and it truly made the other seem like a real person, for him to only be maybe an inch shorter.

"You think I don't have protection?" he asked, meaning it to be a rhetorical question.

"I-I'm not implying-"

"It's fine. Look, he won't find out, and if he does he'll have my guards and servants to go through. Are you changing your mind?"

When the boy responded, his voice was quiet and he avoided his eyes, "So you really... want me?"

How could he be so timid and pathetic and yet so bloody forward all the time?

All he was doing was taking him to his mansion, not marrying him. This was so awkward; he was entirely out of his comfort zone right now, not to mention dirty, exhausted, and jumpy from nerves. He didn't have the energy to argue and they needed to hurry.

He took a deep breath and willed his face not to flush, "I guess... yeah. Are you convinced yet?"

He tugged on his suddenly too hot sleeves and when he looked up at the other he had his matted hair covering his eyes, his face obviously red despite the dim lighting. His blush made Oz feel even more embarrassed and irritated. Deciding to take his silence as affirmative, he spun on his heel and rather than letting himself hesitate, exited the room without a second thought.

* * *

Gilbert stood behind in the shadows of the closet. He watched light engulf Oz as he left, then heard a slight thump as he closed the door and fell against it. The splitting pain in his skull kept giving him dizzy spells, and he felt like his body would never quite be whole again. Which, of course, was ridiculous, seeing as how he was alive and standing with an intact skull, right? He couldn't recall what exactly happened, but at this point he didn't even care. He'd been given enough to think about and he was overwhelmed. In fact, if not for the adrenaline and the disorienting pain, he was sure he'd be bawling. Or maybe he was in shock. He'd heard of it before, probably experienced it before, but right now nothing really made sense. He locked the door as instructed, then braced himself to wait.

His mind alternated from racing thoughts to blank numbness every few minutes. The whole situation was unreal; he still didn't know what suddenly inspired Oz to take him in. They hadn't even met, not really, except for the time they'd met in the hallway and he asked for his name. But since then, the noble hadn't even given him a second thought... or so he believed. This, this was maddening and terrifying and _insane_ but it was exciting. He found he wouldn't even mind if Oz were just as cruel as his previous master, simply because it was him and not that monster. The logic didn't quite add up, but nothing did at the moment.

He felt selfish when he thought of how he jumped at the opportunity for a different life. He was obviously a disloyal servant, so why did Oz want him? He wasn't even good at his job. Just a useless boy who would've been less trouble had he died. But right now... no, he wanted to live more than he'd ever wanted anything.

If this plan worked...

He blinked when he saw drops of water hit the floor and instinctively raised his fingertips to his lashes. Mind blanking, he momentarily forgot why he might be crying and swayed a little on his feet. He caught his balance and leaned up on the shelves.

The small sounds that must've been Oz interacting with someone in the hallway stopped minutes ago. Did that mean he'd lured someone away? He glossed over the details when he explained the plan, confidently declaring that he would lure any lurking servants or policemen but not bothering to explain precisely _how._ But what if there were dozens swarming the mansion, and Oz was covered in blood and...

No, no, no. It would work! It had to, there were no other options, no other... he wouldn't, he couldn't go back!

Before he could stop it, anxiety filled his chest with ice and his breaths left him in short pants. What if Oz decided to leave him here, what if he realized he was too much trouble, not worth it, that he didn't want him anymore? Or maybe he got hurt or the plan failed and he was being interrogated. But no, that made no sense, if that were so then Gilbert would've been found by now since someone obviously saw the blonde leaving this room.

He'd addressed the issue of the broom closet, explaining that if it were a policeman, which they both sincerely hoped it would be, he would convince him it was a restroom. That would give him less of a reason to investigate.

But... it'd been a long time and Oz still hadn't come back.

He was anxious, exhausted, dizzy, confused, and incredibly vulnerable. His hands shook as he imagined his master finding him here, maybe even finishing the job. A sob shook his body and he clutched his hair, which hung in dirtied, matted strands that were still slightly damp with... oh god, he was _covered_ in blood. What could he do, alone in here? He couldn't escape by himself, not when he didn't know if someone were out there waiting for him to do just that.

He was scared and his instincts were telling him to flee. In the worst case scenario, he'd be caught before he could even reach the outside, maybe even as soon as he opened the door. But what if he did manage to escape? He couldn't get very far in his current state, and he might not ever find Oz. Oz might come looking for him here, like he promised, damnit, he promised to knock on the wall twice as soon as the coast was clear!

But he didn't know anything about him. He didn't owe him anything. Maybe he should've asked for some kind of collateral, but he did nothing to deserve that. He didn't deserve to be saved, or to be given a second chance. It's possible that Oz just... slipped away.

No, he wouldn't. He wouldn't because Gilbert wouldn't know how to react to that.

He was pacing and wringing his hands, conflicted and terrified. What should he _do_?

What if Oz suddenly changed the plan and wanted him to meet him outside? But he'd been so adamant about him _staying put_ since neither of them were confident he could make the walk by himself.

His master had a watch and he thought of how useful one could be in this present moment.

It felt like it had been ages since the noble left now. His heart was beginning to feel heavy with disappointment.

He stopped pacing, suddenly losing his fight. He wasn't coming.

Curling himself into a ball on the floor, he put his head between his knees. His mind went blank again, but the pain in his head and chest was all he could focus on. His eyelids drooped and it was all he could do not to fall asleep like he wanted to.


	5. Chapter III: The Vessalius Mansion

**Raven, Abducted**

**Warning: **abuse including implied rape of a minor, OOC, AU, tons of angst and fluff

**A/N:** I apologize for the short chapter, but I didn't want to break up the next part. Hopefully I can make up for it soon...? As always, thank you for your feedback!

* * *

**Chapter III: The Vessalius Mansion**

* * *

The next thing he was aware of was the jiggling of the locked doorknob. Blinking dumbly up at the source of the sound, he suddenly realized he'd fallen asleep. The thought came as a jolt and he jumped, wincing in pain as his head protested the movement.

Shit, shit, shit! Someone was trying to get in and he was trapped. Suddenly the decision not to run earlier seemed entirely stupid; he could've escaped and avoided this, but now he'd be found and it was too late and he'd be sent back to that mansion that made his gut cringe away toward his spine. Oz left him, yes, and the thought sent a wave of despair over his frame. He choked and pulled his legs in toward his chest. He was so tired, so, so tired. All he wanted was to sleep so he could forget, forget this crippling pain and his constricted chest.

He'd been sad before, so he was familiar with the feeling. But this, having an impossibly hopeful situation dangled in front of his face and then removed was more than he could stand. When a sad life is all you know, it's normal, you learn to adapt. Could he learn to adapt after this?

The person at the door continued to jiggle the doorknob. Wait, that didn't make sense. There were keys to these doors and anyone out there should have one.

"Hey... Gilbert?" he heard someone whisper. What? But...

His eyes widened and he jumped to his feet, ignored the horrid dizzy spell, and rushed to the door. He blinked the stars out of his eyes and quickly unlocked the door.

"Mister Oz?"

"It's just Oz. Come on!"

He was here. Now holding my hand and tugging me down the hallway.

There was no way this was real, his mind couldn't keep up. He ran with him and stared dazedly at the back of the blonde's head. Suddenly, he was tugged, hard, and pulled behind some thick curtains. He panicked irrationally, for a moment all he could see was thick dark fabric and it was disorienting.

Something warm covered his mouth and he realized it was a hand. He clutched at the clothing of the person in front of him – Oz. For a second he thought they'd lost, that they'd been separated. This was almost too much to bear at once. His head was spinning and he clutched tighter, unable to think straight, and rested his forehead on the noble's shoulder. Something he definitely wouldn't have done had he been in his right mind. But right now it made sense for whatever reason.

Oz kept his hands down to his sides, but it was enough to have someone close. He needed something concrete to keep him grounded in his turmoil. The other boy smelled like wine, but also carried a calming scent, something between musky and floral.

"H-hey, let's go."

He nodded and allowed the noble to guide him. For a moment, in his disoriented state, as he once again stared at the back of the noble's head, he thought he'd allow this boy to lead him anywhere.

After a few moments of running, he noticed distantly that it was suddenly a lot colder. They must've made it outside. When did that happen?

Oh god, he was delirious, completely vulnerable and dependent on the person leading him to wherever they were going. What were they doing again? He realized with some alarm that someone might be chasing them, he couldn't remember who, and the thought translated into an increase in output of his feet hitting the ground one after another.

His lungs burned. They'd been running for a long time, and he barely had any endurance to begin with.

Oz stopped and he followed suit. Someone other than him must've been helping him up some stairs because the blonde was in front of him, staring in concern. A look that he didn't deserve. A look that made him feel even more broken and pathetic. The fact that someone else he couldn't see was behind him didn't even bother him; he was too fargone at the moment to even care what happened to himself.

He was made to sit down on something plush. It was so comfortable. He felt the tension leave his limbs and he must've fallen against glass because the side of his face was suddenly chilled.

A door closed, but it sounded like it was miles away.

"Don't fall asleep yet. Here, you need to drink this," someone said and forced some liquid past his lips.

Wha-? That sobered him up a little and he opened his eyes just a little in response.

"Are you... alright?"

Green, so green, eyes answered him with concern and almost fear, and he felt himself shaking his head but it didn't really feel like him doing it.

The question pierced him like a knife and suddenly all the tension built up behind his eyes. He curled up and cried, muttering apologies inbetween sobs. Each sob made his head throb and it just made him cry harder. Something warm covered his back and he leaned into it. Eventually his sobs turned into hiccups, and with one last apology, he was pulled under.

* * *

He heard snippets of conversation, none of which made any sense to him.

"Make sure... plenty of water."

"Can't you give him anything for the pain?"

"Will he wake up?"

"...food? It might help his nausea."

"Who... ? What will you do with him?"

...

"Gilbert."

Wait, that word almost made sense. Wasn't that his name?

"...concussion... stitches, but... okay."

"Nightrays... don't know he's here."

Where?

"...Gilbert... not really..."

There was that word again.

"Do you think... abused?"

"He's right here, don't say things like that."

That sounded pretty clear. He heard the words, but they didn't make sense. Maybe he could move his body? But his limbs were so heavy, and – ouch, his head must've been either split open or there was a knife lodged in his skull because those could be the only explanations for the intensity of the throbs. He must've groaned because he heard a noise, but it might not have really happened. Why didn't his eyes work?

"You're waking him up. I'll stay, just leave us be."

"But young mast-"

"Leave."

He heard a quiet click, presumably a door shutting, and his eyes blinked open. Oh, he could see. It was warm here, wherever he was. The bed he was on was much more comfortable than where he normally slept. Which... oh no. He had to get up, it was probably much too late in the morning. Master will be so angry...! He snapped upward and cried out before he could suppress it; what the hell happened to his head?

"Wait! Lie down."

No, what? I have to get up! The things he'll do to me if I don't...!

He felt hands on his shoulders and his eyes darted around to see someone standing over him, and clearly he was still dreaming because there was no way that particular person could ever be anywhere near him. "S-stop!"

He struggled, all the while wincing in pain. It was cold outside of the covers when they pooled around his waist.

"Hey, calm down. What is wrong with you? Just uh, breathe for a second. Do you remember what happened?"

What... happened? He stopped struggling, more out of confusion than anything else. He stared blankly ahead at the white bedspread.

"Do you know where you are?"

"Where...?"

He looked around, taking in his surroundings. This room didn't exist in the Nightray mansion. What the hell...? The person in his peripheral vision stepped into his line of sight and he stared at him.

"Mister... Oz?"

"Just Oz. We're in the Vessalius mansion. Calm down already, you don't need to get up."

His tone was tired and slightly guarded, as if he was explaining all this begrudgingly.

The pieces began to fall into place after that, one after another. They formed a story that seemed too good to be true. But if it was true... it was his selfish and wanting nature that landed him here. It was unfair, why had he agreed to come with this noble? This... this luxury. It wasn't him. He didn't belong here. He belonged on his tiny mattress on the floor. He felt his face burn in shame. It wasn't right for him to ask for more than he already had, no matter how unhappy he was. His master taught him that.

"You should've left me there," he murmured, averting his eyes back to the bedspread.

"Psh, you could've died. If not now, then later," the blonde responded, and it made him angry.

"What the hell difference does that make to you?" he spat out, his fists tightening their hold on the edge of the blanket. He glared up at the noble. He knew in the back of his mind that his anger was misplaced. He wasn't angry with Oz, he just hated himself. But the rage still flooded his system before could could quell the flow.

But really, why should someone he's barely met care about a measly servant of some other noble? Why had he ever asked for his name in the first place? And as far as he knows, this... injury he supposed (he still couldn't remember) was only the first offense. It really didn't make any sense. It hurt the little pride he still had left, that he could have fallen so low as to need to accept help from this noble who he'd never done anything for.

It made him feel even more guilty, but somehow even more angry, when enraged emeralds turned on him, "You know what? You're right. Maybe I should've left you there."

The answer was childish and it matched his own silly naïve pride. He was hit with a wave of regret and flinched when the door slammed as the blonde left him alone. Normally he would take solace in solitude, but all that greeted him now were tears. A harsh sob escaped and it made him hate himself even more for being so weak. How much did he have to cry? Why did these sobs keep coming? He was seventeen now, but he couldn't even keep his emotions under control. As he thought of how he'd snapped at Oz, his ab muscles burned with the force of his cries. He cried himself back to sleep.


	6. Chapter IV: Doubts

**Raven, Abducted**

**Warning: **abuse including implied rape of a minor, OOC, AU, tons of angst and fluff

**A/N:** Thank you again for the feedback and for being patient with me, since the last chapter was rather short. Also, be patient with Oz. He's guarded and broken, but ultimately he's still Oz.

* * *

**Chapter IV: Doubts**

* * *

What must have been hours later, he woke up gently to the feeling of something warm and moist on his face. His eyes fluttered open for what must have been the hundredth time in... however many hours this ordeal had lasted.

"He's awake," the woman in front of him said. She was unfamiliar, but her presence didn't alarm him. In her hand she held a wet washcloth; she must've been washing the grime off his face. No one had ever done that for him before. He realized he must be filthy and looked down at his pillow, instantly feeling guilty and embarrassed that the white cover was stained in spots with blood and had turned a sickening shade of pink throughout.

He heard a noncommittal grunt from across the room and whipped his head around to see the back of the noble he told off earlier. His face burned with shame. Didn't he know his place?

"Uh..." he said awkwardly, thinking he needed to apologize but didn't quite have the words in his mouth yet. Not to mention he was suddenly shy in the presence of another new person. And Oz always made him feel tongue-tied.

"Should I continue?" she said, and even though she was looking at him (and smiling, he noted), he could tell she was talking to the other room's occupant.

Oz turned his head and looked at him and he felt a jolt and quickly averted his eyes. There was silence for a moment as the blonde studied him. Gilbert sat stiffly, unsure of what to do.

"No, there's no point now that he's awake. He'll need a bath," he said, finally.

"Yes, young master," the woman obliged, before standing up and nodding to Gilbert once before leaving. Except, before she left she gently grabbed Oz's forearm and led him into the corridor, just beyond the open door. He couldn't hear what she told him, but his eyes widened when instead of a verbal goodbye, she smiled and ruffled the blonde's hair. Oz looked a bit disgruntled, but had the ghost of a smile on his face as he watched her leave.

He watched as the noble flattened his hair, but quickly looked away when he turned back into the room. That was... strange. Oz seemed so untouchable and rather intimidating; it seemed uncharacteristic for him to allow that kind of familiarity from anyone. But what did he really know about him anyway?

The noble busied himself by the dresser, presumably looking for fresh clothing and linens. He wouldn't even look at him. Maybe he didn't know how to act around him now, either. The blonde swore quietly, apparently not finding what he was looking for. Turning to leave the room again, Gilbert knew he'd have to say... something.

He tried to speak, but his throat was suddenly clogged. He cleared his throat and the sound made Oz look at him. Those eyes were so green they were unnerving and hard to meet. But this time he didn't look angry; if the raven didn't know better he would say he almost looked nervous.

"U-um... I didn't mean to... snap at you. I just, I mean I've never..." he trailed off and clenched his jaw. Chancing a glance, Oz was still looking at him expectantly, which surprised him briefly. He seemed genuinely interested in what he had to say, which made his ears ring with a sudden headrush. He cleared his throat again, "I've never... been treated like this. You shouldn't treat me like a guest."

The bed dipped as the noble sat on the edge on the other side, and once again Gilbert was greeted with his back. But he found he didn't mind. It made it easier to think when he wasn't overly aware of where he was looking.

"I'm not treating you like a guest."

Huh? But the plush bed, the extravagant furniture (furniture at _all_, even!), the special treatment from a Vessalius servant. How was he not being treated like a guest?

"But-"

"This room is actually a servant's room. It's never been used before; when we arrived it was early in the morning and I needed to put you somewhere that no one would think to look. At least until I could explain to the servants why you're here," he explained.

Wow, he was such a bother.

"I'm sorry -"

"Stop apologizing, you idiot," he said, which made Gilbert freeze up momentarily. He was used to being called much worse than 'idiot,' but somehow from Oz's mouth it really lodged itself deep. But when he looked up, those green eyes were playful. Was he playing with him? He didn't know how to react, so he just stared. He'd never had friends his age before, not really, so he didn't know what to do when someone played around with him. It was strange. It made his throat feel tight. But it was nice to see what Oz looked like when he wasn't trying to hide; he probably had a brilliant smile. The thought made him blush, but the other thankfully didn't question it.

Noticing that the noble was clean and well dressed made him self conscious. He raised a hand to his face, noticing the layer of sticky dried sweat, and combed his hand through his hair – his fingers only got about half an inch before getting stuck. He cringed, untangling them to instead try to pat it down, but froze when he heard Oz snort at his predicament. He stared at the blonde; that was the first time he'd ever seen him look... well, happy. Or amused. It didn't even bother him that the noble was smiling at his expense; that smile was just as brilliant as he assumed. He must've stared too long because Oz's smile fell and he whipped his head around, clearly putting his mask back in place. He stood up from the bed with his face carefully blank again.

"You can... take a bath if you want. Can you stand?"

Gilbert blinked. His head was still throbbing, but it felt much better than it had the first time he woke up. He hadn't even thought about it since the noble was here. He tested his limbs under the blanket; all seemed to be in order. He nodded, but then realized Oz wouldn't see it, so he amended, "Y-yeah."

He scooted over to the side of the bed, disentangled his legs from the web of blankets, and managed to place his bare feet on the floor. Wait – oh, good, at least he was wearing something. His underclothes, but he was used to walking around in less. He gripped the edge of the bed and pushed himself up slowly. It wouldn't do to faint again. His head throbbed as his blood pressure adjusted to his vertical position, but he was standing and there were no stars in his vision.

"The doctor left some pain medication in case you need it. He also said you should be drinking tons of water considering how much blood you lost," he heard from behind him. Sure enough, there was a glass of water and some murky liquid beside it on the nightstand.

He'd never been looked at by a doctor in his life. An apology was on his tongue, but he suppressed it.

"Th-thank you," he replied, but it could never be enough and it sounded stupid given the sheer amount of things he was thanking this person for.

He didn't want to be rude, so he sipped a bit of the water and put it down. He sensed Oz walking around the bed and realized he was probably taking a long time. He was going to say he didn't need a bath and that the noble could just leave him, but instead, the blonde stood in front of him and handed him the pain medication.

"Your head hurts, right?"

He wasn't angry at all. He could never predict Oz; he never acted the way he expected.

"Ah, well, only a little..." he lied.

"It's not poison, but if it really bothers you that much," he paused to take a tiny sip of the medicine. He made a face, "Bleh, well, it tastes like shit, but here. I'm not dead."

He grabbed the water and took a gulp while Gilbert watched, absolutely flabbergasted. His mouth opened and closed but no sound came out. He had drank out of that water! And now he expects him to do the same?

"M-mister Oz, I'm sorry, you didn't need to do that!"

He bent over in a slight bow and squeezed his eyes shut, expecting punishment or a scolding.

He heard a sigh and the sound of the medicine cup hitting the nightstand.

"Apology not accepted."

'Here it comes,' he thought, 'he must've just been holding back this whole time.'

"Hey, look at me."

Gilbert lifted his head and hesitantly looked him in the eye, but kept his bow in place. Oz had his hands on his hips and he looked pretty annoyed, but that look from earlier was reflected in his eyes... amusement?

"I told you to call me Oz," he said simply.

"I-I can't call you that! Your other servants call you 'young master,' so why-?"

"I don't remember hiring you as my servant," he said smugly, "And besides, if you were my servant you'd have to do as I say. And I say call me Oz."

This went against everything he'd ever been taught, and it was almost painful to say, "F-fine... uh, Oz."

The noble looked pleased. He picked the medicine back up and handed it to Gilbert.

"Good. Then drink this already and I'll take you to the washroom."

He accepted the cup, but stared down into its murky depths with trepidation.

"But-"

"I'm not dead, see?"

He looked up, and yes, Oz was probably the opposite of what Gilbert would consider dead. He was radiant and warm. He hesitated another moment, though, and the blonde crossed his arms over his chest in annoyance, so he quickly downed the entirety of the liquid.

He was right, it tasted like shit.

As if expecting his reaction, probably because it mirrored his own from earlier, the blonde held out the glass of water and Gilbert gratefully gulped it down to erase the taste of the horrid medicine.

He placed the two empty cups back down on the nightstand, but as he did so he noticed the pink and red stained pillowcase and felt himself redden. His mouth opened to apologize, but Oz just shook his head and grabbed his sleeve, then dragged him out of the room.

Gilbert stumbled behind him. He began to recall snippets of the night before, including the events leading up to his injury. His master was a sloppy drunk, not to mention downright violent at the drop of a pin. Last night he drank too much, and as always, used Gilbert as his personal scaffolding. He had trouble holding the grown man up, seeing as how he was at least twice his weight, but he managed to limp toward the ballroom entrance with one arm slung around his shoulders. The man held a wine bottle, possibly his second? Or third? He'd lost count between the glasses and the shots of whiskey. His master spoke and Gilbert wrinkled his nose at the sheer amount of alcohol that flooded the air in front of him. He'd requested a private room... oh, god...

He shuddered and quickly yanked his arm free. It didn't happen often, but every once in a while...

He was tainted, used goods. Oz stopped and turned around, but he didn't know what to say. Shaking, he wrapped his arms around himself. This happened sometimes; it was like the breath was stolen from his throat and he'd shut down. The blonde needed to leave him alone, stop treating him with kindness he's never known because he was dirtied and he'd get contaminated, too.

"Hey, Gilbert..." he tried, obviously concerned about the sudden change in demeanor. The raven shook his head and rested his face in the crook of his elbow. Taking deep breaths, he managed to get his trembling under control. He was safe here, right? He never quite knew just how much he'd hated it at the Nightray mansion until he'd made it here. But he'd been comfortable there. His routine was structured, memorized, determined solely by his master. He didn't have decisions to make; they were all made for him. He lived how he was forced to, dependent on his master in a way he determined must be manipulative, but it's all he knew. It isn't what he wanted, but all this... this new way of living, of actually feeling like his own person, it was too much too soon. It was everything he wanted, but the fear of having it taken away would linger, he knew. And now, what was he, if not a servant? He couldn't be a person on his own; he'd never been taught to live. Suddenly, he was thrust into a life of uncertainty and it was almost all he could do not to run and settle for his old way of living.

How disgusting was he if he was tempted to escape from _Oz_ and return to his master?

The same master that slammed a wine bottle over his head. _Didn't you yourself say you'd be better off dead if you couldn't even perform your one duty, to please your master?_

The same master that demanded a private room so he could...

...could...

"Gilbert?"

He noticed that Oz hadn't asked him if he was alright, and he was both ashamed and thankful for it. It was obvious he wasn't; he'd suddenly stopped and had a breakdown in the middle of the hallway.

"Why are you doing this for me?" he said, surprising himself with the honest question.

Oz hummed and began pacing in front of him. He had this inherent ability to ground him, a gravitational pull back to the present with his nonchalance. A defense mechanism, he suspected. But it really wasn't his business.

After a few rounds, he paused and stared at him thoughtfully. Gilbert felt like his face outlined every vulnerable thought he'd ever had, with the way those guarded emeralds searched him.

"I was bored," he said simply, after a long moment. Gilbert felt his face heat up and he glared up into that mesmerizing face in a flurry of confusion and fury. It wasn't like he was expecting a specific answer or anything at all, so what was this disappointment that wracked his body in waves? Some thread of hope snapped, leaving him even closer to his previous state of alienation.

Reason won shortly after; this noble had given him more than he could ever possibly deserve in this lifetime or the next. Could he really say he regretted accepting the opportunity? No, definitely not. But something changed and Oz was again a stranger. Irrationally, he suddenly didn't feel welcome anymore. And bathing seemed like a lost cause. The urge to flee brewed ever stronger.

Numbly, he bathed and watched the moon disappear behind a tuft of clouds.

Even the moon's glow was just an illusion caused by the reflection of light from the sun.


	7. Chapter V: Regrets

**Raven, Abducted**

**Warning: **abuse including implied rape of a minor, OOC, AU, tons of angst and fluff

**A/N:** Hello everyone, I want to warn you that I might not be updating regularly for the next week or so, only because I have this last stretch of school left and I barely have room to breathe. That said, I might be able to update, but I don't know when. And no matter what, I will update when I get a chance! I'm so excited to have some time to actually continue writing this story after next Thursday. Sometimes I just daydream up scenes and write silly notes to myself. This is a longer than usual update, so don't hate on me too much, okay? If you're still reading this, thank you, and thanks again for the feedback!

* * *

**Chapter V: Regrets**

* * *

Oz rocked on the edge of the bed with his knees up to his chest and stared at an endless pit of blackness that was the corner of the room, where the light from the single oil lamp didn't quite reach. His chest felt heavy, which was highly unusual. He couldn't sleep. It was late; that boy would have been escorted back to his room by now. He was all he could think about. But that was normal, right? He couldn't remember the last time something this exciting had happened in his life.

But... was this guilt? It was impossible not to notice the change in the boy after he'd answered his question earlier. He wasn't _lying_ per se, he'd just withheld information he didn't deem important. It had only been one night and they'd barely even acknowledged each other in the past; why would his words have any effect on this boy? Plus, he didn't owe him anything. He was bored, he saved the boy, nursed him back to health, and then... and then what? Where would he go?

He ignored the obvious blaring message that tattooed itself across the front of his brain.

What kind of answer was the boy expecting, asking him that? It didn't matter _why,_ all that mattered was that he take advantage, then leave. Isn't that what life is about, being selfish and getting by?

Nevermind that he'd somehow taken a liking to this particular boy. Shit, he kinda actually...

He rested his cheek on his knee. Mrs. Kate had pulled him aside earlier to tell him, "It's okay to have a friend."

It was no secret he spent most of his life alone. He had Alice, but she didn't live in the country, so meeting frequently was out of the question. It wasn't even that he was afraid to have a friend. The problem was... that he might actually care. Or learn to care. He'd soften up, let his guard down. But maybe he couldn't as well. Maybe he was stuck like this, unable to express himself, always cold and easy to defend. It had already happened; he felt the change earlier today, when the smile he'd long ago forsaken nestled itself on the cracks of his defeated face. And then he'd given such a ruthless response to such an honest question from a boy who was lost, didn't have a penny to his name, didn't even have a home or an object to call his own. Judging from how he'd curled into himself earlier, something happened to him. Something awful that Oz was terrified of, because knowing could change everything.

Right now he was just 'the boy,' even though he knew his name.

But he'd told him, he was Gilbert. Gilbert Gilbert Gilbert. Shit. It really was too late, he was already more than just a passing element in his life. What would he regret more, having him leave to god knows where, or to stay here? How weak was he if he thought that this one boy could affect him?

He stopped rocking. How late was it now? It really didn't matter because he'd feel sick until he amended this. This whole situation was turning out to be more troublesome than he'd ever imagined.

Sighing, he stood and decided to forgo the the door to the hallway and knocked on the door connecting his room to the servant's room he kept Gilbert in. He waited a few seconds, then clenched his teeth together in aggravation when he didn't respond. This was the second time in forty-eight hours he's fallen asleep and not let him in! Of course, this situation was nothing like the last, but he pursed his lips anyway.

Deciding to let himself in, he clenched the doorknob and yanked. As expected, the wood had swollen and shrunk more than enough times from disuse that the door didn't quite fit in the frame. It swung open, but he knew he'd have a hell of a time replacing it. Whatever.

Stepping in, he peered around the frame to the bed, but... it was empty. He blinked, unsure of what to do. It was late, he was currently in his nightclothes, and Gilbert was probably just out in the washroom. He felt silly waiting, but resigned himself to his fate and sat down on the edge of the bed. Mindlessly, he curled his fingers around the bedspread and then pulled out his pocket-watch. Yes, it was definitely late, past 03:00.

Wait.

His frame seized in alarm as he realized that the bed he was sitting on was still made up from when Gilbert had been in the washroom. Which meant...

He had a bad feeling. Had Gilbert already made up his mind for him...? That wasn't fair. Guilt swelled in his throat when he remembered the last conversation they'd had (hardly a conversation) and how those gold eyes glared at him. As he dressed, he told himself the only reason he cared was because he'd left on bad terms. Staying was his choice, and clearly he didn't want to.

He slipped his boots on, not bothering to lace them up, ran a hand through his hair, grabbed his coat, and rushed out down the hallway. As an afterthought, he burst into Gilbert's room to grab his medicine as well.

Where would he go? Surely not back to his old master, but...

Shit. What if he did? He'd read about Stockholm Syndrome. Ugh, why did it _matter_ what this boy did? If he wanted to go back to that shithead of a master, maybe he deserved whatever he had coming.

Even as he thought the words, he knew (unfortunately) that he didn't mean any of them.

Gilbert was now his responsibility. He was more than just a tool for some pretentious prick's personal use. He didn't know why he thought that, he didn't know him, but it was hardly fair that such a man would have a hold over him. It made his stomach sick in a way he didn't quite understand.

Pressing on, he ran to the kitchen to fetch a lantern, at least composed enough to realize it'd be pitch black as soon as he stepped foot on the grounds. He quickly lit the wick, cursing as the first match broke due to his shaky hands. He patted his pocket to make sure he had his pocketknife. Then he ran, lantern in hand, out the front door.

This felt like a lost cause; after stepping out onto the pitch black grounds, he realized the sheer number of possible routes the other could have taken. And he had no idea when Gilbert had even left. The servants normally sleep around 23:00; the raven woke up around 22:30. He'd instructed Mrs. Kate to prepare a bath then retire. Assuming bathing took at least twenty minutes... he could've left anywhere between two and a half hours ago and now.

Panic welled up in his gut and he took a deep breath to steady himself. Logically, the raven probably followed the road out, so that's what he'd do.

* * *

I was born when I was three. The truth is, I don't remember anything before I was three. But then, my age was only estimated based on my weight and height. My place of birth was the Nightray household. Master Nightray took me in; he's the detective who found me at a crime scene. I still don't remember what happened, and it's likely I never will. I've come to terms with that.

He was kind at first, Master Nightray. He told me he'd always wanted his own son. He wasn't married and wasn't in a rush because he was not the heir of the household. That was something he was always bitter about. He was born a twin, but he was younger by a minute. That one minute had decided his fate. I never quite understood why he complained though; he was still wealthy and loved. He still had power and he'd climbed a rather prestigious career ladder.

My master was at first a quiet, conservative man. We never formed much a bond, not even in those early days. He always held himself at arm's length from me. I didn't know why until I got older. The quiet man sometimes turned into a violent man, especially after a night out. I'd smell alcohol on his breath and he'd pin me up against the wall. Sometimes he'd punch, sometimes he'd kick, other times he'd force me to take off my clothes. The first time the latter happened, I was seven. I didn't understand then why he was asking, but when I inquired about it, he backhanded me and I bit through my tongue. I learned quickly not to ask questions. I didn't even know that nudity was at all related to sex at the time.

It could've been worse, I guess. The suspense was the worst. He was so unpredictable. Sometimes I couldn't sleep, worrying that he'd get a craving and pin me to my bed in the middle of the night. It only happened a few times, the sex, and at the end he'd always hit me when I didn't get aroused. But the worst part was that he'd apologize. Every time I took off my clothes for him or he used my body, he'd tell me he was sorry, that he couldn't help it. I stopped believing him around twelve. His sexual cravings for me stopped around then. When he 'needed' it, he would seek an inebriated girl at a party. The younger the better.

I feel like he stole a part of me I would've liked to give someone when the time was right. I didn't understand how the act could be casual; every time he shoved himself in I felt like he was somehow reaching my heart and dirtying that, too. I didn't hate him for it though. I'm not sure why.

Ever since it stopped, serving him was like walking on eggshells. He once made me eat a cockroach he'd stepped on and smushed because it was my fault it was in his kitchen. One time he ripped my fingernail off as 'practice' for the interrogation he had to do later in the evening. At least it had grown back since then. He thanked me, though, as if I'd done him a great favor.

I learned early on that I was not a replacement for a son. I wasn't even a person. If I wanted to live in relative comfort, I had to obey him. He always told me that outside the mansion much worse was waiting for me. That he was kind to me compared to other masters. That I would have to sell myself just to make enough money for a loaf of bread. He restricted my diet because, he said, a well-fed servant could butcher the hardened reputation he'd built up.

Every once in a while, I was allowed to socialize with his brother's children, Vincent and Elliot. My favorite was Elliot, who was born when I was eight. He's only nine now and I haven't seen him in a year or two, but I enjoyed the time I spent with him.

He also allowed me to read books when I had time, which wasn't often. But sometimes I'd get so absorbed in a story I would sacrifice sleep to finish it. Without books, I'd know little of the outside world. Sometimes I'd quit reading them because I'd find myself wanting more than what I had and I'd feel selfish. I had to rebuild my endurance, something I was always faulty at. I've always been too honest for my own good.

Especially now, as I walk into the outskirts of the city, I pray for my mind to shut down. But Oz's face makes that difficult; that moment from earlier, right before he dropped that bombshell, burned itself into my retinas and somehow, I think that I might miss him.

_It's not too late to go back._ I shake my head to erase the thought.

Is there anything in this world that isn't poisonous?

But... I didn't really give him a chance. I was at the city's center now and realizing that there was no reason for me to leave the Vessalius household. I just felt guilty and disappointed. I wanted to stay with him and I wanted him to want me to stay, too. But I'm nothing compared to him; I have nothing to give, I'm just a parasite. I left because whatever desire I had to stay wasn't mutual, as if I were in any position to care. The idea of being anywhere else is repulsive and I feel like laughing at my stupidity. If I can't make it there, I don't want to make it anywhere. The feeling was so intense it was almost frightening. It didn't make any sense... was this hope?

But instead, he was here, in the dark center of a city he'd only been to a handful of times. Which was hardly enough times to have the complex plan memorized. There were street lights, but few and far between. Many street corners and dusty alleyways were pitch black. The district he was in looked to be mostly residential, but the doors and windows were boarded up. His safety didn't even occur to him until now. And...

He heard a chuckle and a click and he froze. He didn't have any money. Hell, he didn't even have a coat! But, looking down, he was in more luxurious clothing than usual thanks to Oz. They probably wouldn't believe him even if he told them. He was also unarmed, but he didn't have half the experience they did. Deciding that having his back to them made him entirely too vulnerable, he shifted around, facing a group of three men defensively, unsure of what to do.

"Empty your pockets," the tall, skinny, rabid looking man in the middle holding the knife said.

He opened his dry mouth, "I-I don't... have any money." He cursed inwardly at the stutter; how weak was he?

"Pfff," he whistled through his lips, "I've heard that before. Dressed like that, yes, you do."

The man cocked his head, which must've been a signal of some sort. The other two men, one of average build, the other rather wide with muscle, cornered him against the building behind him and held his arms still. He cringed when he felt hands pulling and prodding. This felt much too similar to...

But if he held still, closed his eyes, and gritted his teeth, it would all be over soon and he might even be unscathed by the end.

"Hey, who the hell are yo-" he heard before a crash, the shattering of glass. He opened his eyes just in time to feel something – or someone – grab his hand and yank him forward.

"Shit, go after them! That little bastard cut up my face!"

"Mister Oz, what-"

"Not now, run!"

He didn't argue, well aware of their situation. The three men were almost a block behind them, but still in their line of sight. The two of them weaved between buildings. Gilbert marveled at the noble's endurance, but figured he was well nourished and recalled that many nobles practiced fencing or something similar. Gilbert knew he had a disadvantage due to his malnourishment – not to mention he hadn't eaten anything in days and his head still throbbed. But he pressed on, his low weight made him quick and agile. At one point, he even passed Oz and pulled him behind a closed stall where he held him against the wall with one hand on his chest and peered around the corner cautiously.

When he saw that the coast was clear, he turned on him.

"What are you doing?" he whispered with a bit of an edge to his voice.

"Saving you, obviously," he said, and the raven detected a hint of amusement.

"I didn't ask you to do that. In fact, I _left_ your house, so why-?"

The blonde had the audacity to smirk at him playfully, and he didn't understand why.

"You could've gotten hurt!" he shot at him, peeved that he was the only one to grasp the dire risks involved with a noble wandering into a city in the middle of the night with no escort. Why didn't he get it? He belonged in his estate with his plush pillows and carpets and fireplaces and enough food to feed a small country.

"But I didn't," the infuriatingly calm blonde said, and rocked forward, still playful and heavily amused. It was only then when he was within a foot of his face that Gilbert realized he still had a hand on his chest. He blushed heavily and yanked his hand away as if burned. Oz continued as if he didn't notice the sudden tension, "Lanterns make surprisingly good weapons. I'm not used to carrying a knife, so I totally forgot about it."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pocketknife, flipped it open, then replaced it.

"Anyway," he said as if they were out here casually discussing the weather, "are they gone?"

Gilbert blinked at him stupidly. It still didn't make sense for him to be here. Was he so malnourished and cold that he was hallucinating? He didn't have a coat, just a white button up shirt that Oz let him borrow. But he was used to spending nights outside, sometimes. Except considering how exhausted his body was after the chase and the lack of food (despite how jittery and alert he was), he was having a hard time not shivering.

He must've spaced out for a good moment because Oz flicked him in the forehead.

"Ow!" he said, rubbing at the spot, but it didn't really hurt, just surprised him. He felt like he couldn't keep up with the noble.

"Come on," he said, before turning and leading the way, obviously expecting the raven to follow, "let's find an inn or something."

An inn, okay, yes – wait. "_What?_ No, you should go home, it's late!"

_You belong in extravagance, not some rundown inn with me!_

Well no, not with him because he couldn't afford it and there was no way he'd let Oz pay for him again. He'd sleep behind one of these stalls.

"Yes it is late, which is why we should find an inn," he stated, still walking ahead and searching store fronts. He must've noticed Gilbert not following him, "Are you always this difficult?"

That comment hit home and his face fell before he could stop it. _Difficult? I just..._

_I feel this inexplicable need to protect you, Oz, from the world and from me._

Oz was in front of him again. When did he move?

"I'm sorry, I-"

"Hey, I was just joking," he said, and the raven looked up from the ground at him. He was... just joking. But he was right. _I'm difficult. And I protect you when I am in no position to._

He was being stupid and stubborn. He longed to apologize, but it only seemed to aggravate the blonde. So instead, he nodded and walked forward, passing him, with every intention of finding an inn for them both. If he didn't want to trouble Oz, then he should stop being deadweight.

With his newfound resolve, he wasn't paying attention to what the other was doing. So when he was suddenly enveloped in warmth, he jumped and the noble snorted and skipped ahead of him. He opened his mouth, but he was speechless and he closed it before any sound could come out. He looked down at the heavy, golden and green embroidered fabric of the blonde's coat and couldn't help the small smile that danced around his mouth despite his stubborn expression of exasperation. He could remove it, could demand Oz don it because damnit, it was cold out and he wasn't wearing nearly enough – but no. He'd made a resolve; if the noble wanted him to wear his coat, he would, and he would do it proudly.


	8. Chapter VI: Kneel

**Raven, Abducted**

**Warning: **abuse including implied rape of a minor, OOC, AU, tons of angst and fluff

**A/N:** (＞人＜;)

* * *

**Chapter VI: Kneel**

* * *

It took about ten minutes of searching the poorly lit streets to find an inn. It must've been about five in the morning, or just a little before. Gilbert's stomach rubbed against itself in protest of lack of nourishment, while the rest of his limbs did minimal work to keep him upright. His head didn't throb nearly as much as it did earlier; only when he touched the massive swollen bump on the crown of his head was when he remembered just how much trauma it had just experienced the other night. Was that really only a couple nights ago? It felt like a lifetime ago. This was unreal, following Oz with barely more than the moonlight guiding the two of them to their destination.

After the initial feud, the night was silent save for their footsteps on the brick road. This part of town they'd wandered into was much more wealthy, something Gilbert at least was grateful for. He was having trouble keeping his guilt under control as it was. He'd never forgive himself if Oz was forced to spend the night in a complete dump.

It was cold, really cold, and even under the calming weight of the noble's coat he was losing feeling in his extremities. Oz at least had more layers on than Gilbert did under the coat and seemed to be doing just fine without it. But about five minutes into their search, the spring in his step wavered and then stopped completely; that was when the raven doubled his efforts and took the lead.

"Master Oz," he said, pointing ahead at a very dimly lit sign at the corner of the brick road. 'Reveille Inn,' the sign said. He watched the blonde's face light up a bit and they both quickened their pace.

A bell hung above the door rang as they opened it. Oz stepped in before the raven could even think of doing so. The bell woke up the modestly dressed man behind the counter, and he looked side to side before finally looking up at the two of them. Gilbert stood a bit behind, completely unfamiliar with inns and how they worked.

He cleared his throat a bit, "Welcome to Reveille Inn, how can I assist you? A room for the night?"

"Yes, one room, please," the blonde requested confidently, then rested a sidelong glance on Gilbert before, "And food. Plenty of it."

"I'm sorry, sir, but the kitchen is closed-"

Clink. The noble placed a velvet coin purse in front of the man, who hesitantly peered in. Inside must've been enough money to quickly change his mind.

"Yes, very well then. Your room is up the stairs to the right, the biggest one we offer, sir. Thank you, sir."

Oz didn't look pleased as expected, but instead rather bored. As if this were an everyday occurrence. He hummed and made his way to the steps.

The room they'd acquired was huge, with a sitting area, a bookshelf, a bed as big as three, an already lit fireplace, and its own washroom. The style was rustic, but elegant, with plush red carpet and the bed heavily dressed.

"Ah, this is kind of nice," the blonde said immediately. He rushed in before Gilbert even had a chance to shut the door and leaped onto the bed, burying his face in the covers. "Mmph, I could almost sleep right now."

The raven stared from his place in the doorway; he didn't understand why the noble was always so comfortable. The raven, in contrast, was awkward and self conscious. He longed to have even half the confidence the noble did.

But now that they were alone, safe, warm...

His thoughts turned dark and he leaned up against the door with his bangs covering his eyes.

"Uh, Mister Oz?"

"Mm?" he responded, the sound muffled, but it was apparent he was listening.

"How did you know I left?"

He decided to start with that question rather than _why_, because he didn't quite trust the other to respond had he asked what he intended to. He watched through his bangs as the noble sat cross-legged facing the fire in the middle of the bed. He was glad he wasn't looking at him; just imagining how the flames would dance in those emeralds made his empty stomach flip.

"Next time you want to sneak out, make sure you turn down the bed first," he joked. One side of his mouth flipped up in a shadow of a smirk.

The next question he had was risky and took him over a whole minute to ask, and when he did, a shiver wracked his frame even though it was far from cold in the room, "So, uh, was it boredom that made you follow me...?"

It was an honest question, and he didn't realize until after he'd asked that it could be considered sarcastic.

"W-wait, I didn't mean..." he tried to explain.

"No," the noble said, scooting forward to sit on the edge of the bed, still staring into the fire. His hand came up to scratch at the back of his head, and Gilbert wondered if he was nervous and it made him nervous too, "I went into your room to apologize for what I said; I was being an idiot. But then you weren't there and I figured... well, I knew you'd left, and I didn't really think about it, I just got dressed and ran out... heh."

The breath was sucked out of his lungs. He heard the words, he processed them, but what the noble was saying made no sense.

"I guess... what I meant to say was, that I think everyone deserves a chance and well, you never got that chance, right? Maybe it was just a selfish good deed of mine, or just me relieving my boredom."

The noble rested his cheek on his fist.

"Now that you know that, do you... I mean, is your decision still the same?"

Not at all, Oz, "I-"

His hands formed fists by his sides and he pushed off the door. Steeling his resolve, he felt liberated, more sure of what he wanted now than any other moment in his life. It was something that had been brewing for years and only now began to surface. It was invigorating, and even when his face flushed and his muscles trembled down to his fingertips, he stalked forward with purpose. Logically, he had nothing to lose, really, if he were to be rejected. He'd be back to being just Gilbert, he'd go back to his old master, he'd simply go back to enduring. But...

Somehow this felt like life and death.

He crossed the space between them and forced his mind to clear. It'd be so easy to talk himself out of this, but he wouldn't. He wouldn't.

He stood over the noble, but somehow still felt like it was he who towered over him. There was a maturity to Oz that juxtaposed his usual obnoxious nature; in moments like these it was unmistakable He was thankful that the blonde didn't speak, instead choosing to let Gilbert take his time gathering his thoughts. Those green eyes watched him curiously, though, and he almost lost his nerve when he finally met them with his own. He knelt down; the action didn't feel stupid as expected, but natural, unlike when he'd been forced to kneel before Master Nightray. He placed an unsteady hand over his equally unsteady heart, never breaking eye contact until the last moment before he spoke and bowed his head low.

"Mister Oz, I..." he swallowed and closed his eyes, "I want to be your servant."

A knock at the door startled him and they both turned to regard it at the same time. Somehow it relieved some of the tension, but the raven worried he wouldn't get his answer. Oz made to stand, but Gilbert's arm quickly shot out and he grabbed his hand before he could leave. The question still stood in the air between them. _Please, Oz..._

He felt a palm rest on his head and he looked up in surprise. Oz gently ruffled his hair, displacing the curls from his eyes briefly. He had a small smile on his face, and an unmistakable blush that matched his own. Quickly, they both averted their eyes, and when the blonde went to answer the door and usher the innkeeper in with the food, Gilbert leaned his head against the edge of the bed to hide his smile. His scalp still tingled from Oz's touch. It wasn't likely to ever stop.

* * *

Some time later after they had both eaten their fill (Gilbert wasn't used to so much food), it was impossible to delay sleep any longer. In fact, the first rays of sunlight were making their appearance over the horizon by the time they'd finally decided to rest. Oz made a show of climbing up on the bed and rubbing his face into one of the pillows contentedly, while the raven made his way to one of the couches facing the fireplace.

"Gilbert."

Ah, he hadn't even asked if sleeping on the couch was okay. The floor would be comfortable enough if that was what the noble wanted.

"Y-yeah?"

"If you really think I could take up this entire country of a bed and leave you on the couch, you are delusional," he said, before pushing up onto all fours and sitting up to remove his outer layers.

There was no way he was offering what it sounded like he was offering. He quickly averted his eyes as the blonde undressed and slipped under the covers. It was comical, how little of the bed he managed to take up.

"I... no... the couch is fine."

Actually, it was more than fine. His back had long since become accustomed to concrete from particularly brutal nights. The couch looked like it'd suck him into an endless sea of plush. And besides, the fire was warm enough, he wouldn't even need to trouble the noble for a blanket.

The blonde murmured into the pillow he was cradling, "I'llmmphmeoverereanmphm."

That made absolutely no sense. He didn't want to seem insubordinate again, but he also would _not_ be sleeping in the same bed as Oz, no matter the size. So he stood still, conflicted as he often was when the noble was involved. After a moment or two of silence, he assumed the blonde had fallen asleep and started toward the couch.

"Gilbert," he said, sounding rather aggravated, and the raven jumped and turned at the sound of his voice. "Don't sleep on the couch."

"But Mister Oz, that's hardly approp-"

"I've made up my mind."

"Y-your mind?"

"Mm," he said, crossing his arms across his chest, looking rather smug, "Until you can call me Oz, you may not be my personal servant."

"What?! But I can't..."

Flabbergasted and scandalized, Gilbert floundered for a response. What kind of servant called their master by their first name?

And... oh god, his cheeks reddened as he processed the words. He'd said _personal_ servant, as in... his primary servant. He was hardly fit for that position! That's...

And wasn't it a little _soon?_

What the hell did he do to deserve...?

"Oh, and I won't sleep until you get in this bed."

Gilbert distressed inwardly and suppressed the desire to wring his hands. It was his fault the noble hadn't slept all night – hell, it was almost daytime again. Oz had said he was difficult, but who was really the difficult one here?

His head dropped in defeat. It went against all boundaries he'd been taught between a master and a servant to share a bed, but... well, he was tired, deliriously exhausted even, and Oz was peeved and obviously in a similar position, so... It's not like they'd even be within arm reach of each other. He nipped that thought in the bud, ignoring the way it made his blood run hot in an unfamiliar way.

He sat uncertainly on the edge of the bed before climbing under the covers and scooting as close to the edge as possible. Surprisingly, despite his concerns, he fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

* * *

Oz took the steps in twos up to the second floor, but slowed down as he realized what lay on the other side of the door at the end of the hall. _Literally_ lay, since Gilbert was still asleep. He'd looked peaceful, and even though he hadn't complained, it was unlikely his head wasn't still throbbing from the other night. When did he start worrying about the raven? It suddenly felt like second nature, and it was terrifying. He'd spent ages with others and still didn't feel any attachment to them. It was frightening, really.

And then he went ahead and asked Gilbert to be not just his servant, but his _personal servant_ all in one breath...!

"_It's okay to have a friend."_

Mrs. Kate's words lay at the forefront of his mind. He didn't have friends because he didn't want to put in the effort to keep them. People were too complicated, he preferred to observe from a distance. Perhaps Gilbert caught his interest simply because his complexities didn't make him cold or cunning. It was like he'd traversed the entirety of hell, but somehow retained his innocence.

But me... why _me._ If he were Gilbert, he wouldn't trust another noble for as long as he lived. Especially one he's only known for a couple days.

_You know it's been much longer than that,_ a voice argued. Sighing, he knew that was right, and that made the situation even more dangerous. To think they'd been dancing around each other for years, intrigued but refusing to interact, spoke volumes of their respective characters. He'd been appraising the possibility of taking him as his personal servant all night. He didn't know why he couldn't offer him a spot as a servant and be done with it; there was something disheartening about the prospect that made him want... well, want Gilbert to... wait on _him_ and only him.

But then he'd asked on his own and jeez, did he need to be so embarrassing about it? The way he'd knelt down as if he were a knight kneeling for his king. He'd been surprised last night, by the fierce drive behind those gold eyes that were usually embarrassed or hidden. The raven took charge by leading him away from the muggers and held him against the wall. It was amusing, really, the way the normally timid boy's demeanor changed completely to one of a protective guardian. That's how he knew.

What he said last night, though, he'd meant. Until Gilbert could speak his name sans title, he would not be his personal servant. At least, not in name.


	9. Chapter VII: A Spotting

**Raven, Abducted**

**Warning: **abuse including implied rape of a minor, OOC, AU, tons of angst and fluff

**A/N****: **Thanks as always for the feedback. I love reading your reviews. Every time I get an email I just turn into a puddle of mush. ;w; This chapter's pretty damn long, so I guess it makes up for not updating last week. I had exams, and I'm moving the week after next, so I am making no promises about updating! But I should have some downtime when I'm not packing and such. Again, thank you, my story followers are perfect. Also, a warning before you ask: I made up the Nightray family according to my story, but the relative ages should be about the same. Thus... heh, you'll see. So obviously, Gilbert's previous master is an OC.

* * *

**Chapter VII: A Spotting**

* * *

"Gilbert~"

Eh? Ah, it's warm.

"Hey, Gilbert~"

What? One of his eyes slit open, but the sight that met him told him he was still dreaming.

"Do you need me to jump on you?"

Jump on... eh?! He flailed as soon as he realized he wasn't dreaming, that Oz was in front of him, obviously up and awake before him.

"Ahh, I'm sorry!" he exclaimed, slightly disoriented from how deeply he'd been asleep. Ripping the covers off himself, he sat up quickly and made to wipe the sleep from his eyes but winced slightly at the pressure.

"Sorry for what?" Oz sounded amused, and he frowned. Was he really so funny when he was under distress?

"Oh!" he said as an afterthought, shoving a cup of medicine into his hand, "What's my name?"

Eh? Name? "M-mister Oz? I mean... Master..."

The raven flinched when the blonde flicked him in the forehead like he'd done the day before. He hoped this wouldn't become a habit...

"As I thought, _Gilbert_," he turned and wandered over to a new cart holding an assortment of breakfast rolls and juice and held a croissant between his fingers, "You should get up, we're going into town to buy you some clothes."

Why did he say my name like that? He could never keep up with this noble; it made him feel slightly airheaded. At least he'd made it through the night sleeping by his side. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept so well.

Wait... did he say we were going to buy clothes?

"Wait, you..."

The blonde paused in his demolishment of the pastry.

"Mm?"

"Don't you need to go home?"

He waved his hand dismissively in the air as if running away from home were an everyday thing.

"I called and let Mrs. Kate know. She gave me quite an earful, but she's always been like that," he scrunched his nose at his croissant like it was at fault, "I guess you'll see that side of her soon enough. And don't forget, it's not just _me _going home, you're coming too. Unless you've changed your mind."

_Home,_ he'd said.

He wasn't sure how she should feel over the fact that Oz didn't look the least bit worried. He shook his head in confirmation anyway.

"Yes, well then, you can't keep wearing my clothes, hm."

The blonde stalked over to Gilbert, who was still sitting up in bed in a daze, and... shoved a croissant in his mouth.

"Mmph!" he released, indignant, but wow, the food here was delicious.

He couldn't help but wonder if Oz treated all his servants this way. Maybe he had other servants his age, maybe even maids...

Somehow he wasn't as hungry as he was a few minutes ago.

Maid was synonymous with _mistress_ in the Nightray residence.

Even if the noble didn't regard him with any special attention, even if he brought a new maid to his room every night, he'd just be acting the part of a noble, right? And Gilbert would still serve him, would still _want_ to serve him because of the inexplicable need to protect him.

So far, Oz seemed to be an anomaly. He'd shown signs of sadism, but only in jest. He was honest, but guarded. The more time he spent with him, the more he noticed that he was less perfect than he'd always imagined. But somehow, the imperfections only intrigued him. It was puzzling why someone like him would be so heavily guarded. At every party, Oz was alone. Actually, he seemed... well, he seemed _bored._ Is that what he meant, that although he lived in the throes of luxury, a certain dissatisfaction accompanied nobility?

On some level, he was still resentful that he'd implied Gilbert merely a pawn to alleviate the monotony. But that was okay; if the blonde could get any use out of him, give him a purpose to live by, even only as an alleviation of boredom, he'd learn to snuff out that residual resentment. And really, it was only Oz he wanted to serve. It was strange, had he been anyone else, the raven might've fled, tried to survive on his own once given the freedom. But... freedom isn't what he wanted, not really. Not now.

"_Until you can call me Oz, you may not be my personal servant."_

"_What's my name?"_

Oz. He could say it so clearly in his head, but it soured on the tongue. But _why_ did he want him to call him that? No matter how many hypothetical reasons he came up with, none were right.

So ten minutes later, when said noble had him by the wrist and dragged him from the room with enthusiasm, he stammered, "W-wait, Master Oz!"

* * *

Oz let go of the raven's wrist at the bottom of the stairs and instructed him to stay close. It was now late in the afternoon and the locals were rushing every which way among the stalls outside to collect ingredients for dinner before they sold out. It was refreshing to be outside; the air was crisp, but the sky was cloudless and blue. The streets of Reveille were red brick and some jutted out at odd angles from years of carriages and pedestrians wearing them down. The narrow streets of uneven shop faces with wooden sign posts all flooded into a major market square filled with stalls. A church facing the center signaled the time by the hour.

It was exciting, but glancing at Gilbert brought a sense of paranoia. He was fair, paler than himself, with bright memorable gold eyes and raven black wavy hair that scuffed his shoulders. In short, he stood out. And Oz, well, he was better dressed than most of the people in the area, and naturally drew attention – especially from the stall owners hoping to make a profit. He instructed Gilbert to keep his head down. It wouldn't do for him to be recognized, especially if word were to get around to the Nightrays.

The hotel entrance lead to the center of the square, but he decided to bypass it altogether. Of course, a heavy crowd would be safer if he didn't want his companion to be noticed. Moving forward, his paranoia deepened with each step until he stopped completely to regard Gilbert, who looked up at him from beneath his bangs. Maybe it would be better to hide in plain sight...?

He led him into a narrow alleyway between two unevenly placed stores and took off his coat.

"Here, put this on," he instructed and untucked his own button up shirt. He looked down at himself. There was nothing he could really do about his pants...

"Uh, Master Oz, why...?"

Even though Gilbert questioned him, he let him guide his arms into the coat and circled around him to button it up.

"Because if you haven't noticed, we sort of stand out," he sighed.

"Yes, but what are _you_ doing?"

"Dressing down. Maybe I can pass for a commoner or a local or something, I don't know."

The look Gilbert gave him made it clear his efforts were futile.

"Well anyway, we can at least dress you _up._ Have you ever tied your hair back?"

"What? No, hey!"

Gilbert swatted at his hands but quickly gave up, turning red. His usual, almost endearingly disgruntled, flushed expression. He ran his fingers through the curls and pulled them away from his face. A couple fell in front of his ears and eyes anyway. It was soft despite how unruly it tended to be, nothing like seaweed. But now... uh, what could he use to tie it back? He used one hand to hold the raven hair back, and the other to poke around the coat he'd just placed on him. It was pretty amusing how poor planning on his part led to Gilbert's complete lack of personal space. His eyes were comically scrunched shut in distress. Unfortunately for Oz, seeing the raven's eyes closed caused his own to wander over the uncovered skin of his neck and the contours of his face. A gold eye peaked open.

"Master Oz...?"

Oh.

"Ah, yes, here!" He snagged a bit of ribbon from the neck of his coat, cringed a little as the delicate green threads holding it in place ripped, and circled around to Gilbert's back to secure his hair. Then, he stood back to admire his work. Anyone looking for him wouldn't expect to see him so well dressed. But now, Oz suddenly was unsure of how to act. It was the same person, but he was somehow... um... well... perhaps less... _hidden_ and it was a little distracting, not to mention how it made him feel a bit inexplicably embarrassed.

He cleared his throat a bit, drawing confidence from the fact that the raven was looking anywhere but at him.

"There," he declared with a smirk and habitually grabbed his wrist. But... "Wait, actually..."

He switched their arms so it was Gilbert holding his wrist instead.

"Okay, let's go."

* * *

"Do you... really think this is a good idea? Should I really be leading you?" he asked. Dressed like this, feeling the cool air hit his normally covered skin, he felt exposed, like everyone around them would immediately know who he was and where he'd come from. Or more specifically _who_ he came from.

"It's fine, just act natural," the noble gone 'commoner' said from slightly behind him. It was awkward, but knowing the risk involved in their outing and knowing it was his fault they were even in the city to begin with, he acted the part to the best of his ability. Oz, at least, seemed to be enjoying himself.

"Hey, Gilbert," he heard after a few minutes of walking. He stopped. "How do you feel about a hat? It'd at least cover your face a bit."

_Why must you _ask_ me, Oz? Before you, I've never had a choice in anything in my life._ He didn't even know how to shop for himself. Was it hard? How did you know if something looked good on you, if you even liked something? He supposed he liked Oz's coat, but it was too... bright. Too shiny. It was perfect for the noble, but not for him. Is that how he was supposed to feel? He didn't dare argue in public when they were supposed to be inconspicuous.

He followed Oz's line of sight to a window decorated with different types of hats. Why were there so many kinds?

"Let's go look," the blonde said, forgetting himself for a moment and walking ahead to the storefront, "It looks like they have coats too."

Gilbert felt silly being left out in the middle of the brick road by himself and quickly followed.

* * *

Down the street, a bright eyed ash blonde child stood with his father.

"Hey, Papa," he called, tugging on the edge of his father's sleeve.

"Not now," the tall man with him said, shrugging him off. The boy huffed and crossed his arms across his chest, glaring at the storefront with the hats. The tall man finished his transaction and handed him a heavy bag of groceries before setting off. The boy's inquiry obviously wasn't worth his time.

The boy jogged to catch up, struggling a bit under the weight of the bag.

"Wait, Papa! I think I saw Gilbert. Is Uncle Benedict around?"

The tall man looked down his nose at him for a moment before glancing around, as if the boy in question were conveniently standing around for him to see too.

"Your Uncle Benedict has not set foot in town for years, son. Maybe he just sent Gilbert out to do his shopping. It's none of your business."

That settled it.

"Well, but..." he pouted and grumbled under his breath, "I just wanted to see Gilbert..."

* * *

Inside the store, Gilbert was bombarded with clothes. The storekeeper was frantically chasing after Oz collecting articles of clothing he'd thrown at the raven but missed. He'd probably be covering his face with his hands, but they were already overwhelmed by clothing.

"Wait, sir-"

"What color do you want, G- _Master_~?" he said, shoulder deep in a hanging rack of coats.

"Color... can we just..." _leave, pick these clothes up, _not_ embarrass ourselves any more than we have!_ Where did he get his energy anyway? And 'Master?' Really? Oz didn't look even remotely concerned by the growing proportion of clothes in Gilbert's arms to those still hanging on the racks. He made a mental note to avoid shopping with him again if he could help it.

Even if he could like one of these, he hadn't even had a chance to look at any in particular before another piled up on top of it.

"Uh, M-m-" _no, not master, but there is no way I'm going to call him Oz! _"Um, can you just give me a minute to look...?"

That sounded rude and he immediately felt guilty. But the sooner he could just look by himself and find a coat he liked, the sooner they could leave and the poor shopkeeper could stop fretting over the two of them demolishing his store.

Oz stopped what he was doing and blinked over at him.

"Well of _course _you're going to have to try them on!"

Wh-what?! All of them?

"O-okay, but wait, m- this is enough! I'm sure I'll like one of these..."

He trailed off as the blonde came up behind him and started pushing him toward the back of the store. He didn't know if he actually would like any of them, nor did he know what it is he'd want in a coat, but at least he'd spared the rest of the coats on the racks from the noble's enthusiasm.

Oz pushed him into a little room and shut the little curtain, blocking him from view. Now he was alone in a tiny isolated room. There was a mirror on one wall and he stared blankly at himself for a moment. Wha...?

"Are you done yet?"

Oh, this must be a dressing room! That made sense, but why was a dressing room necessary for trying on coats...?

"Uh, n-no, one second."

He quickly dumped the pile of clothing in his arms into one corner of the room, hoping beyond hope that the floor wasn't horribly dirty – this clothing looked expensive. But he was at a loss of what to do. Then he slipped Oz's coat off his shoulders and hung it on a hook he found; well, at least there was _that_. There's no way he would've thrown the blonde's coat on the _floor._

"Okay, uh..." he said after slipping the first coat on, and immediately the blonde appeared behind him in the mirror to inspect him. The coat was light tan with sleeves that flared slightly at the bottom with ringlets of white lace. He let the noble button up the front and it swallowed his frame and made him feel distinctly like a bag. Is that what it meant to not like an article of clothing...?

Oz obviously agreed with his appraisal and snorted.

"No, definitely not."

The rest of the coats went similarly. Some fit him oddly, too big in spots, while too small in other spots. Others were strange colors, like bright red that made him self conscious, or light purple. Before today, he thought there was just big and small, ugly and nice. None of these struck his fancy and he felt almost... well, a bit disappointed. He left the fitting room to meet up with the noble with nothing in hand. Maybe he was just being too picky? But then again, Oz hadn't particularly liked any of them either...

"Oh well, there's always the next store," he said.

Gilbert nodded and followed him toward the exit. His eyes drifted along the coats left hanging on the walls, when one in particular caught his eye.

"Um, h-hey, could I... try this one?"

He couldn't call Oz master, not when _he_ was supposedly the 'master,' so the shopkeeper must've mistaken his question as having been directed to him. And he was excited, clearly hoping to at least make _some_ profit from having his store torn apart.

"Why, yes! This is one of a kind. It may be a bit big on you, but you'll grow into it! How old are you, uh, sixteen? Seventeen? It's perfect, sent here from..."

He opened his mouth to interrupt his spiel; after all, he'd been asking Oz. But the blonde's lips upturned in that ghost of a smile Gilbert loved and his mouth shut, whether from the confirmation that it was okay or from that smile, he didn't know.

The shopkeeper collected a short stepladder from behind the front desk and retrieved the coat. He handed it to Oz who, still smiling, led him by the wrist (something that was becoming a habit, but he found he somehow didn't mind) to the back of the store again.

"Here, try it on," he said before closing the curtain, "I'll be right back."

Turning to face the mirror, he heard voices from the other room. Maybe Oz found something he liked, too?

The coat was probably a size too big, but it was hardly noticeable. It was a black trenchcoat with white accents. The collar flipped up about his neck and the front fastened by small gold buttons with little hooks fashioned from the black fabric. There was a belt, too, but he found he actually preferred it tied around the back so he could keep the front open.

"Oh, Master~" Oz singsonged and burst through the curtain and into the tiny room. He suddenly felt self conscious for some reason, afraid that the noble wouldn't be pleased with this coat like he was. As soon as he entered, though, the raven's vision was suddenly compromised and he pushed the offending item up and out of his eyes so he could look in the mirror. Huh... a hat?

He fingered the rim of it and inspected it in the mirror. Taking it off, he inspected it between his hands thoughtfully. He'd never thought he'd like a hat, but something about the way it sat on his head, especially paired with this jacket... it felt like it belonged there. And well, Oz picked it out for him. Why...? He looked questioningly at the noble who still had that enchanting ghost of a smile about his lips.

"I thought it suited you," he explained. He stood still as the blonde circled him, "The coat... do you like it?"

"I..." he looked back at himself in the mirror and caught Oz's knowing eye for a split second, and nodded, replacing the hat and pulling it down over his face to hide his blush. A hat really did have its advantages...

But... did Oz like it? Because maybe he was delusional and his sense of taste was off. He didn't know the first thing about clothes and he didn't want to buy something that looked silly.

"Then we'll buy it. I hope it's warm enough, that's what it's for after all," Oz declared and held the curtain to the side so he could slip out of the room.

"W-wait, um..."

No, this was way too embarrassing. Maybe it was stupid to ask, the blonde would probably laugh at him. He didn't understand why Oz's opinion mattered so much, and somehow under that gaze he always felt so small, more timid than he's ever been. Did he always stutter so much when he spoke with other people...?

"Yeah?" he prompted, stepping back into the room. He was always so patient, even when the raven was inwardly aggravated with himself at his inability to ask simple questions. The blonde would just calmly wait, like he did now, and he felt his heart swell with something unidentifiable.

It almost felt like his voice _mattered_.

"Do you... like it...?" he finally asked, fidgeting with the belt buckle on the coat as if it were suddenly intriguing.

The blonde _smirked_ and Gilbert frowned at his reaction.

"That is for me to know~, heh," he teased and popped the hat off the raven's head before flicking him in the forehead and promptly leaving the room.

"H-hey!"

He felt the distinct desire to flick him back. Oz was so...

_Ugh_, he thought, but smiled despite himself. He raised his hand to his head to pull his hat down over his face, but then realized it had been stolen. Already a habit. He figured it'd probably get stolen a lot too.


	10. Chapter VIII: Bonds

**Raven, Abducted**

**Warning: **abuse including implied rape of a minor, OOC, AU, tons of angst and fluff

**A/N:** It's been a while. If you follow my tumblr, you'll know why, ah~. I moved - across the country to boot - and my life is currently a mess. I expect to write more in the near future though. This chapter's a bit of a lead-in.

* * *

**Chapter VIII: Bonds**

* * *

Gilbert took a moment to will the flush from his cheeks and walked out front.

"Oh, hey, Master, uh..." the blonde scratched the back of his head. He was nervous...? "I think I overpaid the innkeeper last night and... I was kind of in a hurry to run after you. Um..."

What was he getting at? Why did he have to care so much? It made him feel awkward and he didn't know how to act; Master Nightray would have simply told him no and dragged him from the store. Of course, Master Nightray wouldn't bring him to a store in the first place. All his clothes were hand-me-downs from his master's nephews. And that was okay, it was what he was accustomed to.

The way Oz fidgeted made himself feel decidedly nervous. He didn't want the noble to fret over him, to worry about hurting him; the thought made him feel on edge, as if a wrong move would make it worse.

"You don't have enough, right? It's okay, I don't need anything," he reassured and began slipping off the coat.

"No, wait, I had enough for the coat, but the hat..." he glanced guiltily over to the hat, "I'm sorry, I know you liked it."

Liking it wasn't a good enough reason for Oz to buy it for him...

"I don't need it. The coat is more than enough."

That regretful face made _him_ feel irrationally guilty. The hat was originally for disguising purposes, not necessarily for his benefit. And the coat... well, that was so the blonde wouldn't need to (not that he really needed to) keep lending him his.

The blonde still didn't look convinced when they left the store a few minutes later. With the coat on, the cold barely bothered him. His hair was still back though, so the wind tickled his cheeks and neck. The weight of it felt nice, and the collar made him feel more secure, somehow. Maybe it was because he didn't feel so exposed. He felt the need to say something, especially since the blonde seemed to be favoring silence rather than his usual enthusiasm.

"H-hey, Master Oz?"

He didn't say anything, but the raven knew he was listening anyway.

"Thank you." For everything.

"Mm."

* * *

The rest of the walk back to the Vessalius mansion was mostly uneventful. The stalls were closing up, so the crowds had dispersed. Billows of smoke were visible from the residential districts; obviously people were now inside preparing dinner. They followed the road out of town in silence, and Gilbert admired the sunset behind the trees which lined either side of the road. Oz reminded him he could let his hair down now, and he gratefully did so. It took about a half hour walk to get to the front door of the mansion.

It was strange; he'd left this place because he wasn't welcome, but suddenly it was his home. He'd be here with Oz every day now. It was still a surreal notion.

"Are you hungry?" the blonde asked, hanging his coat and motioning for him to do the same. Surely the servants didn't normally hang their coat where their master did. But he didn't ask, it seemed like a question that would only irritate the other.

"I... I guess..." he said reluctantly. It wouldn't do to _lie_. If he was going to live here, he'd need to eat. "But if it's too much trouble... I mean... shouldn't I be getting food myself?"

After all, he was a servant.

Oz crossed his arms across his chest smugly.

"You're ridiculous. You don't even know where the kitchen _is._"

His mouth opened and closed a couple times, and the noble snorted. He was right, he didn't even know where the room he'd stayed in was anymore. It was dark when he arrived and dark when he left – in fact, both times he was forced to sneak and he was more concerned with not being discovered than mapping out the mansion. And as such, he didn't think he'd even ever be returning.

"Young master? Is that you?"

They both turned at the sound of a voice, still standing in the entrance-way, and Oz made a face. He remembered what he'd said before about being on the phone with Mrs. Kate, and wondered if it was her calling.

"Yes, Mrs. Kate," he said deadpan, but then his tone turned mischievous and he smirked at him as he called out, "I've brought a new recruit!"

Gilbert shot him a look that clearly said "That wasn't necessary!" just as Mrs. Kate turned the corner. He bowed immediately. They met before, but now it was business. If he was going to serve Oz, he'd need to learn the basics under this woman.

She stepped in front of him and held out her hand. He took it and stood, "I'm Gilbert," he said.

She seemed to be a stern, strict woman, but had a distinctly mother-like quality that was comforting and made her less than intimidating, "And I am Mrs. Kate. Nice to meet you, Gilbert."

Mrs. Kate turned to address Oz, "Young master, are you implying that he intends to serve you?"

She said it a bit skeptically and Gilbert couldn't help but frown inwardly at her tone. It seemed that Oz picked up on it as well, because when he spoke it was declarative and slightly resentful.

"Yes, that's what he intends. Starting tomorrow, he will require your training. But for now..." he trailed off. Gilbert squeaked when he was yanked to his side, "...a grand tour," he finished.

"Let's go, Gilbert," he said, and not giving him a choice, led him down the hallway. Gilbert looked back apologetically, but she ignored him.

"Young master," she called again and they both stopped and looked back, "Where will he be staying? Surely not..."

"Mm, the room he's already acquainted with? Yes, that works for me~."

She looked unimpressed, but obviously the noble didn't care because he started forward again. Once out of earshot of her, Gilbert asked, slightly worried, "Um... what's wrong with the room I was in?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just the room next to mine."

"W-wait, what?! Master Oz, isn't that your personal servant's room?"

The blonde hummed and turned to regard him, pausing their walk, "Do you remember what I said when I explained why I'd brought you to that room in particular?"

The raven wracked his memory.

"_This room is actually a servant's room. It's never been used before; when we arrived it was early in the morning and I needed to put you somewhere that no one would think to look."_

"You said... it's never been used before and that no one would think to look there," he recalled, and the blonde nodded for him to continue his thought, "So... you've never had a personal servant?"

They started walking again. "Mm, no, I've never had a need for one. Or maybe no one is qualified, or fun enough."

Gilbert was starting to understand that he should be concerned with the blonde's idea of "fun."

"Um... may I ask you another question, Master Oz?" It was rude to ask a lot of questions, wasn't it?

"Ask away."

"Why... do you insist that I not call you master? And if I'm not your personal servant, then why should I stay in that room?"

Oz smirked sideways at him, slowing down their pace, "That was two questions."

"Oh, s-sorry, I just-" He was definitely being rude!

"It's fine. For the first, I've decided not to answer that. And as for the second... well, I've already answered that."

Gilbert's expression drooped. That was helpful. Although, he _did_ recall when the blonde might've answered the second question.

"You said... that if I could call you um, not master, that I could... become..."

"...my personal servant. Mhm."

"But _why..._?" he asked, exasperated and more than a little thrown off. First Mrs. Kate begrudges him, then Oz tells him he'll be staying in his _personal servant's_ room, and he won't even tell him why but he all of a sudden has the chance to earn the title. Him, the useless boy he's only known for a few days. He sighed, "I don't get it."

Oz's smirk turned into that small smile that always made his stomach flip, and he realized he'd said that last inappropriate bit out loud. Turning red, he quickly covered his mouth, physically holding in any other rude comments that might manage to slip out of his obviously defective mouth. But the blonde looked the opposite of displeased, which made decidedly no sense. They stopped in the hallway again. That smile was wiped clean as quickly as it had appeared. "I've also decided not to answer _that_ question."

_He must enjoy watching me squirm_, the raven thought.

Suddenly he noticed his arm felt cold and light; looking down he realized Oz let go at some point. _Why can't I ever keep up?_

He hurried through the open doorway after the blonde. "This is the parlor room..."

And so began the "grand tour."

* * *

That night, Gilbert lay spaced out staring out the window at the black silhouette of the forest against the backdrop of stars. His new bed was just as comfortable as the other night, if not even more so now. He didn't feel like he was simply taking up space anymore; he was here because he belonged here. That resolve he'd found still swirled in his gut. He didn't want to be useless. He wasn't simply enduring anymore. He could be something more than he always thought he was, was always _told_ he was. Because to Oz, what he said wasn't insignificant. He closed his eyes with a distant smile. Dark blue is nice, he thought, thinking of the night sky, but bright green is even nicer...

He'd just barely fallen asleep before he heard a soft knock. Furrowing his brow, he tried to localize it. It wasn't coming from the hallway... Again, a knock. The other door...?

"Master Oz?" he said, and almost tangled himself in his blankets scurrying out of bed. Opening the door, he was met with his new master and...

Oz stepped in and made himself comfortable in the middle of his bed, setting up the chessboard he'd brought.

"I couldn't sleep, so..." he blinked over at the raven, who stared at him from the still open doorway. "Ah, were you sleeping?"

He quickly shook his head. He almost had been, but...

The reason he was so taken aback by the sight of the blonde with a chess set was because... well, with his old master being woken up in the middle of the night didn't mean _chess_, it meant...

He banished the thought from his head. His old master wasn't here, would _never_ be here. It was Oz.

"Are you alright?" _Don't ask me that._

"I'm fine," he said too quickly, but Oz wasn't the type to meddle into his thoughts. Whether that was good or bad was up for debate.

"Do you want to play chess?"

The board took up the middle of his bed and all the pieces were already set up. It didn't look like the blonde expected him to decline. Not that he would.

"S-sure."

Chess... all those nights he spent under the threat of... well... (his thoughts danced around every euphemism of the forceful act but came up with nothing). If he had known he'd be at peace like this at one point in his life, maybe he wouldn't have had to shiver himself to sleep out of fear most nights.

He flicked open a matchbox and lit the oil lamp on the nightstand. Smoothing the covers upward, he scooted up against the pillows.

He didn't know which was more mesmerizing, the peaceful game of chess that ebbed away his old but not forgotten nighttime fears, or the light from the oil lamp dancing on Oz's perfect porcelain skin and in his eyes as he concentrated.

Green... bright green...


	11. Chapter IX: Alice

**Raven, Abducted**

**Warning: **abuse including implied rape of a minor, OOC, AU, tons of angst and fluff

* * *

**Chapter IX: Alice**

* * *

Oz watched in silent amusement as Mrs. Kate ushered Gilbert around the kitchen. It was clear he knew what to do, but he had no idea where anything was kept and therefore kept getting in her way. He almost felt bad... almost. But then... the raven still seemed to err on the side of caution. Of course, it had only been several days, so he didn't know what he was expecting. His previous master must've been strict on a whole new level. And he thought Mrs. Kate was strict. But Gilbert bent over half in a bow at one point when he spilled a negligible amount of hot tea on the counter, and even the stern woman seemed taken aback. Thinking about what his old master might've done as punishment made him feel slightly ill. Never in his life had he laid a hand on any servants of his. After all, they weren't working for free. He stepped from the room and wandered aimlessly down the hallway. It was too early for breakfast, but he shouldn't venture too far from the parlor room (he preferred to eat in there rather than the dining hall when it was him alone). What did he even do before Gilbert arrived...?

His life was slowly being consumed by him. The worst part was, he didn't mind. What happened to his resolve to keep the boy at arm's length, no, at _least_ curtain rod length…? He mulled it over, reclined on the windowsill and frowned up at the bronze rod. It happened just as he'd expected and feared. He'd started to let the boy in, and worse, he was starting to seek him out. Is this what having a friend was like? Do friends consume your time and your thoughts? That seemed like overkill...

Every time Gilbert opened up, even by a fraction, he couldn't help but feel accomplished. It had started to become his goal to break him out of his shell, except that Oz found he liked the casing, too.

He'd learned early on in his life that friends were manipulative. Friends only came around when it was convenient. Friends in nobility were temporary. In his opinion, he didn't understand why he should expend energy when he'd just be rejected. To the nobility, appearance was everything, which included publicly acclaimed friendships which didn't translate over in privacy. And... well, he'd experienced this so many times he'd lost count. He wasn't largely important to anyone. But people were too much work anyway; the only one worth working for was himself. That wasn't to say he didn't care for _anyone_. He had his sister Ada, but she'd lived with his father for most of their childhood and recently enrolled in a boarding school. Or rather... half-sister. But that was a thought for another time. Then there was Uncle Oscar who treated him more like a son than his own father had. He'd always be grateful, but he, as well, had his own life and never lived here. This mansion was largely empty save for himself. That's why he'd 'entertain' himself by going to parties and people watching. At times, the estate served as an extension of his father's business, Pandora, when he required more office space. But when those meetings occurred, he was strictly prohibited from wandering anywhere near that wing of the mansion.

And outside of his family... well, there was Sharon Rainsworth, at least. They met at a brunch when he was eleven. A little less standoffish back then, he begged her for a dance and they became fast friends. She was one of the only other nobles he knew who he could be honest with. In fact, she had a party coming up in just over half a month.

And obviously, there was...

"Master Oz."

He turned his head lazily to the side in response. Gilbert stood straight with his hands folded behind his back. When he saw Oz watching, he bowed slightly and announced, "Your breakfast is ready, master."

Oz sighed and rolled until his feet touched the floor. That could use some work. Did he have to be so formal? What the hell did his old master do, force him to wear a weight around his neck?

Well, actually... considering the bits of abuse he did see, he again didn't want to imagine just what his new servant had been through. And yet he found himself contemplating the subject quite frequently. He'd have Gilbert forget. He'd replace that hell of a past.

Because despite his aversion to bonds, friendship, the whole concept of permanence, even if this were just a temporary chapter of his life... he would protect him. That was simply a master's responsibility.

* * *

The next several days went similarly. Gilbert quickly adapted to the change in environment, finally becoming a productive member of the mansion rather than stepping on Mrs. Kate's toes. Even she seemed impressed by the way he handled himself, especially in the kitchen. He was a great cook. Oz would simply sit and watch him in the kitchen at times. It seemed to be the only place the raven felt confident; he would space out and cook as if on autopilot. He didn't even seem to notice the noble sitting on the unused counter space, leaning against the window overlooking the garden. For once, Oz didn't even feel like teasing him. The kitchen became an odd place of serenity.

A younger female maid walked in and smiled at the blonde before handing him a letter.

"Young master, this came for you," she said and reclined her head before turning to leave the room.

"Thank you, Sarah," he called after her and she looked somewhat surprised, probably thinking he didn't know her name, and rushed out of the room. Was it that surprising that he knew the names of his maids? Oh well.

"M-master Oz."

He stifled the small grin he felt forming; Gilbert had finally been alerted to his presence, even though he'd been sitting here for a good ten minutes. But he didn't have to know that.

"Gilbert, I've been here for over a half hour. Can't you even notice your master sitting in the same room as you?" he pouted dramatically. He had the distinct feeling that the raven knew he was lying, but he turned red anyway. Success. He turned back to the stove, losing his finesse.

"Um, I... well, do you need anything?"

He hummed, "Mm, no," then smirked and retracted his earlier decision to not tease him while he worked, "You're just cute when you cook, Gilbert~!"

Drawing delight from the raven's blanch, he suddenly remembered his letter. He stuck his finger in the envelope as a makeshift letter opener and sloppily ripped it open. Wait, uh... who was it from, anyway? Turning the destroyed envelope over, he fit the pieces back together.

_Alice Baskerville_

Ah, he hadn't written her in a while. Was this a letter of discontentment? He just didn't have anything to say! Wasn't their mutual acknowledgment of their companionship enough? Drumming his boots against the cupboard door beneath him in a childish manner, he unfolded the letter with some trepidation.

Skimming through, he noticed... it wasn't angry at all. In fact... yes. His mood lifted considerably with excitement. Alice was coming to visit!

He hadn't listed her earlier as one of his 'friends' because he'd already mentioned her before. She was always there. His best friend to date. But they rarely saw each other and he was awful at maintaining friendships long distance.

According to the letter, she'd be here by the end of next week. He smiled; she'd be here in time to accompany him to the Rainsworth party. Sharon would be thrilled.

He was broken out of his daze by the sound of a metal serving platter hitting the counter next to him.

"Hey... I told you I didn't need anything," he said as Gilbert filled a teacup for him. He was surprised when the raven hung his head, as if exhausted by his words.

"Master, please, just... let me do this for you."

And he did, he sounded tired, and Oz's blood pressure rose a few beats because he realized that maybe he was going about this the wrong way. In trying to make the raven more comfortable, he was quite possibly making him feel useless in the same breath. It was ironic, really, how not long ago he'd felt similar when his services were rejected out of politeness. If Gilbert wanted to serve him tea, then he'd allow himself to be served tea. Hmph.

So he hugged his knees to his chest and rocked along the edge of the counter, bouncing off with his boots and sipping from the teacup. It was probably horrible manners to have his shoes on the counter where food might later be prepared... ah well. He continued watching the raven prepare food for dinner. Today was the first day cooking on his own; he begged Mrs. Kate to let him try.

Why did Gilbert have to be so _careful_ with him? It's like those nights spent seeking each other's company never happened; that those moments of companionship were so easily replaced with the attitude of a simple valet.

To be honest, it was a little… his brain danced around the word "lonely," scoffing, but nonetheless the feeling settled deep in his bones.

Even that earlier confidence was replaced with an uncertainty that made Oz roll his eyes. Earlier he'd never seen anyone so comfortable in the kitchen, but now...

Pushing off the counter, he instead favored the bit of the island counter behind where Gilbert was working. He took another sip of his tea. Those shoulders seemed to tense even more now that he was closer.

Sighing audibly, he ventured, "Gilbert, you were fine before you knew I was here."

As expected, the raven stuttered out an argument, "No, I mean... it's fine if you want to be here, master."

"Oz."

He got silence in response and he huffed a little in exasperated amusement. As if he'd actually expected that to work.

"If my presence makes you uncomfortable, then I'll leave."

He meant it seriously and faltered a little at his own honesty, even though his tone was light. It was a little offensive that the raven couldn't be comfortable with him. Didn't he understand yet why he would prefer to be called Oz...?

Turning to leave out the main kitchen door next to the stove Gilbert was working at, he paused when he heard him speak. He didn't need to explain himself. Oz wasn't fishing for reassurance, he was simply stating that he was leaving because it wasn't his intention to make him uncomfortable.

"Th-that's not it. I just..." he set the spoon he was stirring soup with down in a porcelain holder and gripped the edges of the counter, "I don't really know how to act around you yet... but I will! It's not that I... don't want you around..."

The blonde ducked a little to see the expected blush that dusted his cheekbones. Those golden eyes found his and they both smiled a bit despite themselves; maybe the raven was closer to understanding than he'd thought. It'd just take time.

Whether it was the letter boosting his mood or some unseen not-yet-understood force drawing the action, he couldn't help himself from ruffling those black curls a bit before leaving the kitchen. And when he did, he had to lean back up against the door to catch his breath.

* * *

"Master Oz?" he called for the hundredth time. Where was he...? He'd sent another servant requesting his presence, but he was not where she told him he'd be. He frowned; he hadn't seen his master since yesterday morning, and that was only a brief encounter. And suddenly he wanted to see him for some unknown reason. In fact, the whole mansion was quiet this morning. Why...?

The only other person he encountered was Sarah and she wouldn't tell him anything other than Oz's message. When he asked her if there were any plans for this weekend, she shut her mouth tight and fled down the hallway. And Sarah was normally rather talkative with him...

Ugh, it was hard to serve a master who was no-where to be found! And, well, he felt a little curious as to why Oz seemed to be avoiding him, which was an unfamiliar feeling that brought him great shame. He'd spent his entire life not missing anyone, not expecting anything in return for his service. He didn't need anything from Oz; he was the _servant_. It was enough just to serve him. But he couldn't shake the anxiety blooming from beneath his ribs. Maybe Oz was the type to favor him until he was bored, then move along.

_No, Gilbert! He's busy and what he does or doesn't do concerning you is not your business!_

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he continued on his search for Oz with some trepidation.

* * *

Oz bolted down the stairs as soon as he saw a carriage pull up the long driveway. Today was a good day; Alice was visiting after all. They hadn't seen each other in over a year. She lived in the slightly northern country of Germany in a mansion owned by the Baskerville family, and traveling was a long momentous occasion. Why she had decided to travel now, in the peak of winter, he did not know.

But he was excited all the same. See, the Baskervilles were a noble family with wealth on par with the Nightrays, the Vessalius', the Rainsworths, and the Barmas. And as a child, he saw her almost regularly, back when her mother was mourning her father's death. Eventually, overcome with grief, her mother decided to escape and explore new territory, dragging a reluctant Alice behind her. Her search eventually led them to Germany, where they settled down, and that was when he lost one of his only childhood friends.

But that would change soon.

He ran outside in a flurry and shooed her servants away, offering her his arm to escort her inside. He was surprised when she took it; she'd normally have clobbered him by now. Maybe it was because in her other arm, she held her cat Snowdrop, who had obviously grown from the kitten he'd met years ago. He recognized her by the vibrant white of her fur and the red ribbon around her neck.

The peace didn't last long.

"Ow! H-hey, Alice, what was that for?!" he cried, wiggling his now throbbing toes.

"Hmph," the girl said and stuck up her nose before letting herself into the house, "That was for not writing me."

Seeing her act like this was so nostalgic that he forgot to be angry. He followed after her as she entered the Vessalius mansion in a storm.

"Ah, sorry, but you didn't exactly write me much..."

But that was apparently the wrong thing to say because she sent a haughty glare over her shoulder. Even with her difficult attitude, he could never dislike her. She was a headstrong girl in appearance, but he knew she had a much more fragile side to her. She was one of the few who he felt comfortable smiling around, or rather smiling _for_. His honest smile that he sometimes feared was lost forever.

They passed Sarah on the way into the library, where the two of them often hung out as children.

"Sarah, would you please find Gilbert and tell him I have something to show him? Oh, and don't tell him about Alice. It's a surprise!" he instructed.

Alice frowned as they entered the sunlit room, filled with layers of shelves of dusty books. He himself was an avid reader, but often he'd find himself rereading his favorite series, The Holy Knight (on a shelf in his room for convenience reasons). The shelves of one bookshelf were relatively well-kept, but otherwise the room was rather unused. Alice told him once that she preferred it because she liked the smell, so ever since he considered it 'Alice's room.'

"Who is Gilbert?" she asked in her usual, demanding way. She must've dropped the subject of writing, always quick to forget. Or maybe she'd considered the jab to his foot a sufficient punishment.

"Just someone I want you to meet~," he teased. She bit her lip, obviously intrigued by this new development.

"Mm," she hummed, "I don't want to be in this room. Let's go to the parlor room. What are we eating tonight?"

Her attention span was clearly lacking. It only made him smile as he followed her farther down the hall. _Just like old times,_ he thought fondly.

Rolling his eyes, he responded, "Meat as always, Alice."

When they reached the parlor room, she flopped down on the couch and rested her black and white boots on the coffee table. Snowdrop bounced off her lap only to mew and paw at his leg as he stepped in. Feeling lighter and happier than he had in a long time, he scooped her up and nuzzled her against his cheek.

Alice looked on grumpily, "Hey, Snowdrop's mine!"

But she couldn't hide the hint of a smile the scene brought her, even under her heavy glare.

"Oh, Snowdrop, how you've missed me~!" he teased. He twirled around, making Alice roll her eyes, but paused when he heard the distant call of his name.

"Master Oz?"

Heh, oops, they changed rooms but there was no way for Gilbert to know that. Popping his head out of the doorway, he called, "In here, Gilbert. And hurry, I have a surprise for you!"

He wondered what Alice would think of his new servant. Oh, the ways she could embarrass him... "This should be interesting," he said to Snowdrop, who stared back at him with wide eyes.

"Ah... master?"

Brightening, Oz smirked and held the white kitty out in front of his face toward Gilbert. Snowdrop was his first surprise. Maybe the Nightrays had a cat...?

"This is Snowdrop, she's... ah, Gilbert...?"

Lowering the cat to the floor, he blinked at the now empty space that used to inhabit the raven. Alice laughed heartily behind him, "Haa~! You should've seen his face. Psh, afraid of a _cat?_ What is Snowdrop going to do, lick you?"

Oz sighed and scratched the back of his head. He had no idea Gilbert would be afraid of a cat, huh.

"I'll... be right back," he said, letting Snowdrop hop back up on the couch, but Alice was too busy giggling to hear.

He found him just outside in the hallway a little ways down. Bone white, he stood pressed against the wall as if attempting to blend into it.

"Ah... Gilbert?" he tried, and the raven flinched a little, but seeing no cat he seemed to calm down just a little. Oz stood in front of him and crossed his arms, admittedly a little amused; the way his servant was reacting to a mere cat was... well, it was almost cute. "Since when are you deathly afraid of cats?"

"I... I just don't like cats. Please don't _laugh_," he said, a little indignantly, as Oz chuckled, "Was that the surprise you wanted to show me, Master Oz?"

Oz focused on stifling his amusement for a moment, "Sorry, it's just... as soon as I think I know you, I find out something new. Is there anything else you're afraid of, Gilbert?"

Something flashed behind golden eyes for just a moment and he wondered what memories or horrors his question might've prompted, but then his eyes cleared and he responded, "I don't think so, Master Oz."

The noble stared for a moment longer, but decided not to ask about that moment of hesitation.

"Well then, come on, there's a second surprise," he said, already in the process of returning to the parlor. "And I promise it's not another cat," he teased.

Gilbert hesitantly returned to the room, wary of the cat that didn't seem to be around anymore. In it, instead, he saw Oz standing with a girl who looked to be about their age. She had long brown hair down past her waist and sharp purple eyes that seemed to stare into him judgingly.

"So _this_ is that person, hm," she said, assessing him as one would a feast.

"Yes, uh, Gilbert, this is Alice. She's my fiance," he said, and Gilbert froze.


	12. Chapter X: Invisibility

**Raven, Abducted**

**Warning: **abuse including implied rape of a minor, OOC, AU, tons of angst and fluff

**A/N:** Short chapter. Without spoiling anything, I just want to mention that at this point I'm _still in the process of setting up Gil's character_. Interpret that how you want. Also, thank you all for the reviews as always, ahhh they are so encouraging.~

* * *

**Chapter X: Invisibility**

* * *

"Yes, uh, Gilbert, this is Alice. She's my fiance," he said, and Gilbert froze.

_Did he say..._

Oz smiled at him expectantly, innocently, as if he hadn't just bludgeoned his chest into oblivion. The cold, homogenous, leaking mixture of tissues suddenly seemed to bleed upward to gather in his throat. He swallowed the lump as his face flushed, and it took all his willpower to keep his eyes from watering. Strange, the feeling was, one he'd never felt before.

So Oz had a fiance; he'd never mentioned that before. For some reason, it was a hard pill to swallow. _Why_ was something he was only beginning to figure out.

He averted his eyes and took a deep breath, hoping he didn't look as horrible as he felt. This was the surprise from Oz to him, so he'd be grateful. He could act grateful, right?

"A-ah, well, it's nice to meet you, Alice," he said, mustering up a smile that tugged deeply on his heartstrings. The most fake smile he'd ever had to manage, and that was saying something.

"He's cute," she said, and he was surprised, but distracted by the need to _get out_. Cute? He... huh? "But his hair looks like seaweed."

In any other situation, he would be offended, but right now... no, his vision was tunneling and his stomach turned. Oz was saying something, but he couldn't hear. He needed to go, and _now._

"I – um, I'm sorry, it was really nice to meet you," he bowed lowly, then bolted.

* * *

"What...was that?"

Oz blinked, concerned, at the now empty doorway (again) and wondered why his servant was acting so strangely. Was it Alice...? But he'd never seen him act like _that_ and he'd met plenty of other people in the blond's presence. It was odd and a little disappointing. He really hoped the two of them could get along; after all, Gilbert had become important to him recently too. Somehow it struck him as an offense that he didn't even make an effort to befriend his fiance – not as a master, but as a friend.

_Friends are just illusions, anyhow._

"I...uh, don't know. Maybe his stomach was upset or something. He was pretty shaken up by seeing Snowdrop earlier."

Alice huffed and let the matter go, and after a moment, he did too.

* * *

If I had known the second surprise, Oz, I would've said I was afraid of pretty brunette girls in blue and black dresses. Somehow it never occurred to me that you might someday be married. It's common among nobles, especially heirs like you; obviously, you'll need to produce an heir one day as well. And she'll be good for you, you know, because she makes you smile. You don't smile much, but when you do it's contagious. It takes minutes for me to recover when you direct it at me, even though it's meant for her.

I don't understand it, why I feel like this day in and day out. The days are moving quickly now, and I feel that somewhere along the timeline, I was left behind.

It's okay, though, because sometimes you seek my company and I gladly give it. Last night we played chess again and I even got to see you laugh. You ruffled my hair, though, and now it doesn't feel the same. It reminds me of my place in your life. Below you, where I'll always be. I feel more distant from you than I ever have, physically and emotionally, and it doesn't seem like you've even noticed, which is understandable. I've always been hard to notice. I was always told growing up that I was invisible. That I don't walk, I glide. My old master told me I was like the shell of a person once, and I agreed. It was probably the only time I'd ever felt like someone understood my thoughts completely; there's irony there, but I don't care to find it.

I've been trying to muster up the courage to ask you if you love her, but the question gets caught in my throat and my stomach turns to stone when I try. I'm pathetic. I'm sure there's something wrong with me, Oz. I've never felt quite this bad, never in all my years of hell have I wanted to scream and run and sob and laugh and drive a stake through my heart so desperately.

It took me many nights to finally wonder, did I fall in love with you? I lie here on the bed you gave me, the one only feet from your own, and I imagine I can hear you breathing but I can't. And I watch the same night sky that I did the first night I felt like this was my home, but that feeling has long since dulled and I simply exist here because it's my responsibility.

Sometimes I get angry with her for the little things she does, even when I know it's irrational. I used to bite my lip to distract myself, but once I bit all the way through and you asked me why my lip was swollen.

I wonder if you've noticed but decided not to acknowledge it.

As long as you're happy, Oz. I can't tell if you are and sometimes it drives me mad but I don't dare ask because you've always been guarded with me.

I'm now useless as a servant. I've always been driven by my emotions, which have always been too plentiful, in my opinion. And now... well, my duties are lacking. I'm starting to realize that I'm replaceable. Anyone can make you tea, cook you meals, launder your clothes... I'm a waste. I don't have that resolve I once did when you first brought me in. I just feel sick. Did you know you drag her around by the wrist like you used to me?

Sometimes I get selfish and scream into my pillow when crying isn't enough. I really am selfish, Oz, I always have been. I wonder what she has that I don't, but I always remember... I remember that I'm nothing. I'm just Gilbert and what I feel is heartwrenching jealousy. It's silly, it is, because if you knew you'd probably laugh because it's so simple. And so sometimes I feel stupid, especially when I'm hiding behind stacks in the library between meals, curled up around a book, but not really reading it. I have a favorite spot now, somewhere between the epic and religious genres. I wonder if you call for me while I'm sitting there.

The strangest thing is that I feel no resentment toward you; I want so badly to see that smile, even if I myself never remember how to. This hurts, Oz, more than anything I've ever experienced because those beatings were purely physical. I'd really prefer them and nights of terror over this, I think. You'd probably be sad if you ever knew that.

I'm sickly and invisible, and you're as beautiful and radiant as ever. Will I ever catch up to you?


	13. Chapter XI: Aurora

**Raven, Abducted**

**Warning: **abuse including implied rape of a minor, OOC, AU, tons of angst and fluff

**A/N:** I'm really sorry I'm horrible at replying to reviews, but I read them all and each one kills me a little because you guys are so awesome. Thank you for reading my silly story and taking the time to tell me you enjoy it- _seriously._

* * *

**Chapter XI: Aurora**

* * *

"So is Gilbert going tomorrow, too?" Alice asked, the morning of the day before the Rainsworth ball. She was so excited to see Sharon she was practically bouncing on the edge of her seat. He glanced over to where Gilbert was tending to the fire; he would never sit still, even when Oz requested he do so. For some reason, he'd been acting strangely. When spoken to, he'd never make eye contact with him anymore. But after some investigation, he realized it was only him he was acting strangely with. Nothing he did or said seemed to connect with the raven anymore, as if he'd made some grave mistake. But he'd remember that, surely. Everything just felt... tense all of a sudden. When they were together in a room, like now, the raven preferred to pretend he didn't exist unless he was spoken to. It was unnerving. Even Alice noticed, and she was normally clueless when it came to social matters.

He scratched at the back of his head – a nervous habit – and feeling inexplicably guilty, he responded, "Well, um... no. He's kind of... hiding from someone and if he went to the party, it's likely he'd get recognized."

Alice's brow furrowed slightly and asked the one question that could cause tension to rise to unbearable heights, "But... isn't he like, your personal servant? He's kind of useless if he can't be there to protect you."

Always so blunt, Alice was. His breathing grew shallow; nothing good was going to come of this, but he couldn't _lie_ because well, "No, he's not."

He flinched when a log in the fireplace fell in place from what must've been a sharp jab on Gilbert's part. The raven quickly shut the chain-link cover, stood up with his bangs covering his eyes, and promptly left the room.

Oz cringed inwardly, feeling uneasy. Maybe he'd come around soon...

"Are you dumb, Oz?" He looked up, confused. Did Alice know something he didn't...? "He's your friend, right?"

"Ah..." Were they? Wasn't this what he wanted to avoid, beginning to care and losing his carefully built wall? He supposed it was a little late for that; currently his chest was in knots.

"Go after him, idiot," she said, pouting, but there was only kindness in her eyes. And a hint of _something else_ which only further fueled his confusion.

"I... yeah," he said, feeling distinctly awkward as he shakily rose. Why was this all so taxing?

Once he found his feet, he also found his lost energy. Walking briskly, he tore through the door and out to the hallway. Something was definitely wrong and he deserved to know.

"Gilbert!" he called, just missing him as he turned the corner at the end of the hallway. But there was no reason he wouldn't hear him, so... "Gilbert!" he called again. Ugh, he was so stubborn.

"GIL!" he yelled as he turned the corner, now frustrated by the lack of response. The nickname slipped out unexpectedly, but it did the trick because the raven stopped. From behind, Oz could tell his shoulders were hunched and his hands were trembling, curled into loose fists. His frustration escaped him and instead concern doused his frame in alarm.

"Ah... Gil?" he said, now only feet away from him. He stepped forward and circled around the fragile raven. He felt the overwhelming need to reassure him from whatever it was that ailed him. Whatever it was, it was abrasive and chipped away at Oz's confidence at some subconscious level.

"H-hey, are you..." No, it was apparent he was not okay, not at all. Reaching out a shaking hand in apparent helplessness, he did what felt natural to comfort his servant. Or his friend, really, or whatever this intense attraction was. He cradled his cheek and used his knuckles to gently lift Gil's chin upward so he'd face him. He heard his breath catch and his heart sped up a bit.

"What's wrong?" he asked gently, and the raven released a breath, quickly averting his eyes.

"I-I'm sorry, master, please just-"

"Please _what?_ Ignore you? I have no idea what's wrong and I just want to understand-"

Gil cut him off while simultaneously shrugging off his palm, which was still resting on his cheek. This wasn't the first time he'd seen him upset, but this is the first time it felt so personal, as if he'd committed a great crime only the raven knew about. But he couldn't recall anything of the sort. It hurt.

"Stop," Gil said quietly, and the look on his face _did_ stop his heart for a moment before it sped up considerably. "It's hardly proper to comfort your servant like this, master. I-I'll be fine. What Alice said was right, anyway, maybe I'm not fit for this... I..."

He choked back a sob and looked horrified and Oz exhaled so hard he felt himself go lightheaded a moment. Acting without thinking, he grabbed the raven and pulled him into himself with one hand resting his head on his shoulder. His servant was freely shivering now. What could he do...? He was a helpless, nervous wreck and damnit, he didn't understand what was going on!

To his surprise, Gil didn't flinch away. Instead, he brought trembling hands up to grasp at Oz's clothing and pulled him closer. The noble felt his temperature rise a few degrees. But he smiled despite the nervousness he felt; maybe this was enough, and maybe... well, just maybe this was curing him of something he hadn't known was wrong, too.

Running his fingers through that 'seaweed hair' as Alice referred to it, he attempted to soothe the other's fears. Because he'd protect him, he'd vowed, and clearly he wasn't doing a sufficient job.

This damn servant was wedging himself into his life whether he wanted him there or not.

Gil's scent was making him heady; he smelled like soap and something nostalgic he couldn't quite place, like autumn, or the garden from his childhood after a rainshower. The raven's forehead rested against his skin just above his collar, and he wondered if he could feel how warm he was. Or if he could feel his limbs fighting for stability underneath the weight of his emotions.

"She isn't wrong, you know," he said gently into Gil's ear, which he exposed by gently brushing some curls behind it. As he spoke the other shivered and he wondered if it was his doing, but somehow it gave him a nervous rush that only spurred him on. If he was able to comfort him, if only a little... "But only because you're so stubborn you won't do as I asked of you."

His tone was slightly teasing and he felt some of the tension leave the vice grip the raven had on him. Strangely, he hadn't minded it at all. He expected his words to be enough, but after another moment of silence Gil gave another choked gasp and fully embraced him and he felt his lungs cease to take in air. But then he felt a dampness on his skin through his collar and frowned.

"Hey, Gil," he tried to coax him to look at him, but after a few tugs he deemed the feat impossible. What the hell made him into such a mess...? And why was he so deeply moved by all this, like the raven was somehow penetrating every layer he'd ever had, physically and emotionally? He felt a silent sob against his collarbone and cringed. Bringing up his other arm, he held the other more firmly to him, desperate to calm him down. Desperate to know what was happening and what was wrong and what he'd done, just _why why why_ this was even happening.

"I'm sorry," the other started chanting between sobs. "_Sorry… sorry… I'm sorry..."_

All he could do was hold him and try to ease his pain a little. Lightly running his fingernails across the expanse of his scalp, entangling his fingers in those soft impossibly black curls. He longed to see those shining gold eyes, but Gil absolutely refused to remove himself from the crook of his neck. Embarrassed to let him see his tears. They probably looked ridiculous, standing here embracing in the middle of the hallway where anyone might pass, but he found he didn't mind. He couldn't even begin to explain the situation to himself, not to mention another person... but it was okay, this was somehow necessary, for the both of them...

"Just let me do this for you, Gil," he whispered, his thumb diving between the raven's face and his shirt to erase some of the tears from those porcelain cheeks. His words echoed the words the two had been bouncing off each other since they met. He felt the need to elaborate, "Not as my servant, but as my friend."

The sobs abruptly stopped and he used the opportunity to lift the raven's chin before he could stop him. Gil's eyes were puffy but relayed a curiosity beneath his shameful expression.

"F-friend, Master Oz?" he sniffled.

"Do you think I'd let just anyone use me as a human handkerchief, not to mention for the world to see in the middle of the hallway?" he grinned, not noticing how he was losing himself in this moment of closeness. Pressed up against each other, Gil's arms taut around his waist, his own wrapped around the raven's shoulders, one hand tangled in his hair. He brought his other hand around and traced a teartrack up his face to his eyes, where his fingertips caught the ones trapped in his long eyelashes. They were in their own world, lost to the outside; for a brief moment, anyway.

Gil came to his senses first and he immediately went rigid when he realized where he was or more specifically _what_ he was doing and with _whom_. Panic showed up on his face, alerting Oz to their predicament as well. Later he'd wonder why he responded the way he did, why he felt so self conscious releasing his hold on his servant, his _friend_, and why, as they separated, he couldn't bring himself to look at the other. But it wasn't shame or regret.

The awkwardness, the public affection, the affirmation that Gil was his friend, the confusion, the resolved tension, it all built up to a chuckle and a smile wider than any he could remember giving in his lifetime. And it was worth it, because it made Gil smile too, and he knew things would be okay. They would... wouldn't they?

"Are you going to tell me what was wrong?"

The smile dropped from the raven's face and he looked surprised, but then his face twisted and Oz worried he would start crying again, but he didn't. It looked like not everything was resolved...

"It's okay," he said, right as Gil opened his mouth to respond. And even though he desperately wished to know what it was he couldn't set right, no, what he'd _done_ because clearly this issue revolved around him, he knew Gil wasn't ready to tell him yet. "That isn't an order or anything."

The raven nodded looking significantly less tense, but somehow still plagued. Oz's concern still lingered where it would slowly eat away at him, but at least, for now, the two of them were better than ever. Even if he didn't quite understand why his desire for Gil's happiness outweighed that of his own or anyone else's.

Hormones, he told himself.

After promising he was okay, that he wouldn't flee on him again, Gil accompanied him on his walk back to the parlor room. He apologized numerous times, realizing with regret how rude he was being to Alice. Oz assured him she didn't think anything of it. Because, well, Alice didn't think much of anything really, except meat. And himself. And Sharon. And...

…

"Hey, Master Oz?" Gil asked just before they reached the doorway.

The blond turned, "Yeah?"

"The party tomorrow... um, it's at the Rainsworth mansion, right?"

He was curious now, "Yes... uh, why?"

"Would... Xerxes Break be there by any chance?"

Oz frowned. Break... an interesting character. What business would Gil have with Break? Did they know each other? That was likely impossible; the Nightrays rarely socialized with the Rainsworths. He'd spoken of Sharon before and Gil didn't seem to have any connection to her...

"Break...? Yeah, he'll be there. He normally escorts Sharon, after all..."

Then Gil did something he never expected. He bent over half in a deep bow. Oz blinked down at the back of his head. _Wha...?_

"Please take me with you, Master Oz," he asked with more confidence than he'd ever heard from him. The same confidence he had the night he asked to be his servant. It made his heart swell. But unfortunately...

"I... can't. You know that, Gil. I would if I could, but if someone sees you..." he scratched the back of his head. It must've been difficult to ask, but he had to refuse. They couldn't risk it, even if the Nightrays were very unlikely to be attending.

He fully expected the timid raven to give up and he felt guilty.

"Then... what about a disguise? I want to try to speak with Xerxes Break."

Again, Break... huh?

Oz caught his eyes, now looking pleadingly into his own. They said nothing short of "please, Oz," and he sighed, in slight distress. He considered the idea. A disguise...? At a party, everyone would be in close company, so a half-assed disguise like the one he had in Reveille wouldn't work. Unless...

A smirk slowly materialized across his face.

Dramatically, he brought a finger up to his mouth and tapped it against his lips in a thoughtful manner.

"Hmm, a disguise then... then you won't be picky about exactly what _sort_ of disguise?"

This... this could be fun.

Gil looked alarmed and hesitant, his confidence noticeably faltering. "Um... I guess not...?"

Oh, Gilbert. What have you just agreed to?

Looking as if he just sold himself into slavery, Oz dragged him back into the parlor room. He'd need Alice for this.

As if Sharon wasn't going to fawn over him _enough._

* * *

As Alice put the finishing touches on his disguise, he noticed a necklace slip out of her dress. More specifically, a gold locket. He wondered why he missed it before. She must normally keep it out of sight under her clothing.

"Miss Alice, that locket... did Master Oz give that to you?"

She paused in her work and glanced down in alarm before quickly dropping the locket back into her dress. Glaring at him, she said indignantly, "That's none of your business."

His expression dulled. She was impossible to talk to. Oh well. A few minutes of silence later, she stood back to admire her work, looking quite pleased with the result.

"Um... is this really a good idea?" Looking down at himself, no, this was a horrible idea! He didn't look at all like...

...a girl. _Oh god,_ he thought, as Alice dragged him to a mirror. _I do look like a girl._

And a very convincing one at that.

His palms began to sweat as he studied himself in the mirror. He was wearing a half wig, so that his curls framed his face as usual, but the back was raven black and long, stopping at his hips. He had a headdress on, black with white lace accents. It tied under his chin with a bow. And then... the dress. It was black with red and white ribbons interlacing along the front. At the chest, there was a large bow which surprisingly did the impressive job of masking his flat chest. Covering his hands and arms, he wore long black silk gloves that stopped a few inches short of the puffed sleeves. And on his legs, he wore thigh high stockings with black Mary Jane shoes. Under the long skirt that scuffed the tops of his shoes were layers of petticoats that made it hard to walk.

He didn't know how to feel about this; on one hand, making a convincing girl meant there was less chance he'd be recognized, but then... well, wasn't being feminine a _bad_ thing for a boy? Would Oz look this convincing if he put on a dress?

_No, he would not think about Oz in a dress!_

Speaking of Oz...

"I'm coming in!" he heard and Gilbert panicked.

"A-ah, wait!"

For _what_, he didn't know, all he knew is he didn't want Oz to see him like this! Although, he'd _have_ to, if they were ever going to leave the house.

"Nope!"

Alice plopped down on a seat by her vanity in the guest room she was staying in, laughing heartily at his embarrassment. He sent her an indignant look just as his master threw open the door.

He was already fully dressed for the night, wearing a brown double-breasted fitted suit with coat-tails. He also wore white gloves and a black bowtie.

Gilbert immediately blushed, grimacing to the side. '_Oh god, he thinks I'm hideous!'_ he thought with shame. His gloved hands gripped the sides of his skirt. He was absolutely _mortified._

Glancing over at Oz, who had yet to say anything, he saw those emerald eyes sweep over his frame and somehow felt a wave of heat sweep through his gut. But then the blond brought an elbow up to bury his face in as he giggled uncontrollably.

Ugh.

"You..." he managed out between throes of laughter, "You're going to wear that again, aren't you? Jeez, I thought you could pull it off, but I didn't think you could pull it off _this_ well. Are you sure you're not really a girl?"

As if he wasn't mortified _enough._ And... wear it again? Huh? He glared, horrified and offended, at the still giggling blond who he called his master. _Oz..._

"_Master…_"

Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe he shouldn't go at all; if he was this embarrassed in private (although it probably had more to do with Oz than anything else), how could he face a ballroom full of people? And would Break even take him seriously, dressed like this...

He reached up to untie the headdress he had on, but the blond saw and quickly stopped him. "Wait, Gil, I'm sorry, it's just... you're so convincing. Didn't you see?"

Yes, he did, and he agreed, but that didn't make it any less embarrassing! Still feminine enough to pull this off at his age... it was shameful. He sighed, more convincing was _good_, he reminded himself.

He fingered a bit of lace on his skirt.

"Alice, did you put any makeup on him?" the noble asked, circling around the raven now. Gil numbly watched his feet in the mirror, too humiliated to look up any higher than that.

"Psh, no, I'm not Sharon. I offered lipstick, but he hid behind the couch," she said from the seat near them, waving her hand dismissively. "Maybe he'll let you do it."

_I'm standing right here!_ _I'm not a _doll!

"Is that really… necessary…?" he protested weakly.

Oz's tone softened and held a hint of a chuckle.

"Gil, hey," he said, and Gilbert reluctantly looked up from his shoes to his face, still red to the tips of his toes.

"Hm," he said, as if appraising him. The way he studied his face made him entirely too uncomfortable. "He doesn't need it. Maybe you went a little overboard? I mean, we want him to blend _in,_ not stand out."

_What does that mean?!_

"Ah well, maybe Break could help by pretending to be his date," she said offhandedly.

Wait... date? What?

Oz blinked as if coming to some kind of realization, but then relaxed.

"Gil, what did you need to talk to Break for, anyway?"

He didn't want to tell Oz about it until he was certain Break would agree; otherwise, he'd feel dumb if he left empty-handed.

"Well, um..." he fumbled for the words to tell him he didn't want him to know just yet, but came up with nothing.

"Alright, I get it," the blond flicked his forehead and he flinched in surprise, "Another little secret of yours, then."

Alice rolled her eyes at the display and made a show of looking at her pocketwatch. She herself was dressed almost as extravagantly as himself, but wore a deep purple dress with long sleeves instead.

"We should go before all the food is gone."

Gilbert didn't think he'd ever been to a party where the food ever ran out, but he didn't argue. He was feeling particularly antsy to leave as well. Mostly because he wanted to get this night over with, and partially because Oz's scent was beginning to permeate his personal space and he found it hard to breathe. He quickly busied himself by straightening Oz's bowtie out of habit, and Oz smiled at him in appreciation. He wondered, with slight anxiety, whether the blond would prefer him as a female. But he smothered that thought before he could dwell on it. Servants didn't need a gender as long as they could perform their jobs, right?

His old master, well, he reminded Gilbert regularly that he'd be better as a girl. The reason why was vulgar and made him sick to recall. Reminding himself that Oz wasn't like his old master helped, and he followed the couple out to start his night out as _Aurora_. The name Alice picked. They'd also decided that if anyone were to get too nosy, he was simply a 'friend' of Alice's from Germany. Or he didn't speak English, which was the easier of the two. It helped that at least Sharon Rainsworth would know who he really was; Oz promised she was trustworthy.

He stared at Oz's back and recounted the plans he had for tonight. _I'll catch up to you, master. I won't be useless much longer; I'll protect you, just as you protect me._


	14. Chapter XII: The Rainsworth Ball

**Raven, Abducted**

**Warning: **abuse including implied rape of a minor, OOC, AU, tons of angst and fluff

**A/N:** Right, I actually want to thank that guest who gave me some constructive criticism. I don't have a beta or anything, so when my writing loses track I tend to sort of... let it, regretfully. So I actually really appreciate it. My writing does and will change with the mood of the story, though. Anyway, here's the next installment. Thank you all for the support, you guys are so awesome, ah- And this one finally has more reviews than Vice!

* * *

**Chapter XII: The Rainsworth Ball**

* * *

"Sharon, meet _Aurora._"

Gilbert bowed... wait, do girls bow? Wasn't he supposed to be pretending to be a girl...? He quickly changed stances, bending his legs in an awkward last-minute curtsy.

He liked Sharon immediately; she seemed to be a very well-mannered girl, unlike Alice, who he wasn't quite sure about yet. If anyone's outfit rivaled his, it was hers. She wore a pink dress that billowed out into endless ruffles. A matching bow sat at the crown of her head, holding caramel curls in place. Somehow, she had a motherly aura that he found comforting. Actually, he vaguely recognized her. Probably from previous parties, although most faces of his past were just a blur. He smiled at her, which apparently broke the spell.

She _squealed,_ staring up at him with glittering reddish-pink eyes_._ "Oooh, Oz! Who is this and why I have I not met her? She's adorable!"

Said blond smirked wickedly and caught Gilbert's horrified eyes.

_Oz... you- you're going to tell her, right?_

Alice looked beyond peeved and upon seeing Oz's smirk, promptly stomped on his foot. Gilbert bristled, but was too preoccupied with his mortification to comment.

"_Ah!"_ he winced in pain. "Alright, alright! But you know it'll just make it worse when she knows, don't you?"

Worse? How?

"Know what? Oz, what are you not telling me?" Gilbert froze at the look on her face. He didn't know anyone could pull off such a threatening aura with a smile on their face so well. He unconsciously stepped back in alarm. But when he did so, his back hit something solid and someone's hands came to rest on his shoulders.

"Hmm, who do we have here, milady?" he heard and spun around to apologize, but stopped at the leer he got from the man who was not much taller than himself. The man looked to be in his mid-twenties, with silver hair that covered one side of his face and one red eye that assessed him greedily. Somehow, this man made him uneasy, and it wasn't just due to the shadowing of the contours of his face. He smiled knowingly at him, which caused him to step back, suddenly uncomfortable as that red eye swept down his frame.

"Oz tells me this is Aurora," she said, her tone dripping with delight as if Oz had brought her a tasty treat.

Was it really such a good idea to come after all…?

"Aurora? Hmm... that's interesting... and where are you from, _Aurora?_"

Gilbert sent a sidelong glance at Oz, "_He knows!_" he tried to communicate. Instead of the expected response, the blond covered his mouth with the back of his hand to stifle his laughter. _Wh-what? Wasn't it bad if someone were to find out...?_

"I... um..." Shit, if he lies, he might just sound silly now. Growing frustrated, he glared at Oz who was finally beginning to sober up. Sharon looked on, confused, while Alice looked thoroughly bored.

"Stupid clown," Alice muttered under her breath. Gilbert wondered if he imagined how her eyes strayed, narrowing longingly at the other couples dancing. But more importantly…

Why did he feel like he was suddenly the butt of a joke...?

"Alright," Oz finally said, his tone turning serious. He practically whispered the last part, "This is actually my new servant Gilbert. He's currently, uh, hiding. I'm sure Break knows all about it, anyway."

A look of recognition passed across the man's face. Wait, man with one eye... he looked much too young to be, but was Oz implying...?

"_He_?! Oz, are you serious? I need to see this!"

The next thing he knew he was being dragged by the hand out of the ballroom. What did she need to see...? And why was no one stopping her?

"Um, Miss Sharon, where are we going?" It was all he could do not to trip on the many layers of his petticoat as he followed behind her at a brisk pace. He held the hem of his skirt up off the floor by one gloved hand at his hip.

"Miss Sharon?" she repeated, testing the words on her lips, positively starstruck. Was he really that interesting? Turning his head, he relaxed a little, relieved to see that Oz was following along with that... man. Sharon led him into an empty office and shut the door behind the two of them. Wait... huh? He couldn't keep up. He was sure he'd be feeling trapped if it weren't for the reassurances of Oz earlier; this was a close friend of his.

"I just want to see~," she said, smiling dangerously and reached out to remove his wig. She was in front of him and he could smell her perfume. He held his breath as she got close and let her slip his wig off.

"Ah, um... wait, I really came to see-"

The door opened again and the two following entered behind them.

"Milady, I just want to remind you that it's hardly appropriate to undress your guests in empty office rooms against their will~," the man said, then added, "Isn't the bedroom far more appropriate for that?"

Even though he knew it was only a joke, it resonated deeply within him and his breathing grew shallower. He took a step back into the center of the room away from Sharon, who now held his wig.

Oz sighed and smacked the man on the shoulder playfully; obviously they were on familiar terms. "And I came to make sure he came out in one piece, preferably _fully clothed_. Sharon, this is a bit overboard, even for you! Alice is so jealous she's taken to rampaging the food table... not that that's entirely out of the ordinary."

Gil thought back to that moment earlier, that longing present in Alice's eyes. Perhaps it was improper for a betrothed woman to dance with another man. Shoving those thoughts to the back of his head, he focused on the present and what he came here to do.

"Aw, fine," she said to Oz, disappointment evident, "But does this mean we'll be seeing more of you, Gilbert?"

Even after that terrifying first meeting, he couldn't help but smile at her. He scratched at the back of his head, now free from that suffocating wig. "Um, yeah, maybe," he said, unsure, but if his plan did pull through then...

She squealed again, clapping her hands together excitedly. Why…? She seemed to do that when he smiled. She handed him his wig and then passed the two others on the way out. She whispered to Oz and he couldn't hear it well, but it sounded almost like, "I can't wait to dress him up!"

He hoped that isn't what she said. Oz looked up at him and smiled reassuringly. That wasn't what he expected; he expected more laughter at his expense.

"Well then, I will leave you two to hmm, _redress?_" the man said and Gilbert felt slightly scandalized by his tone, even if what he said wasn't suggestive.

"Nope, you wait up, Break," Oz said, grabbing his arm before he could follow Sharon out.

"As far as I am concerned, I do not serve _you,_ you stupid brat," he said, but his tone was rather light. It seemed like harmless banter, but Gilbert still frowned at the insult toward his master. Oz took it in stride.

"Then I'll have you know it's not for _me,_ but for some reason my silly servant wanted to speak to you personally. And seeing as how Sharon has taken a liking to him, you can't really refuse now, can you?" he said, exuding superiority, but smirking in jest all the same.

So this _was_ Xerxes Break.

Their relationship was confusing and Gilbert had a hard time keeping up. He couldn't tell if the man liked or disliked Oz. And he was a servant, talking down on his master. It struck him personally that Oz didn't seem to mind.

"Ah, using my lady's perversions to your advantage, are you? See, this is why you're a brat. But if I must..." he trailed off and looked at the raven expectantly. "What is it you need with me, then?"

Gilbert glanced at the blond, then at Break, "I have a request. But... um..."

Break raised an eyebrow, but it didn't deter him. For some reason, he didn't find this man particularly intimidating. Eccentric and unpredictable, yes, but was he really as strong as he was renowned to be...?

"...Master Oz, I can... I mean, I'd rather do this alone if that's okay," he said, hoping he wasn't being too rude by dismissing his own master. But it was for his sake as well as his own.

Oz looked surprised and stared at him for a moment. The raven wondered what he was thinking in that moment. Then he nodded and turned to Break, "Don't you dare try anything perverted, Break."

"Oh, but I wouldn't dream of it! I am not milady, anyhow, unless of course that is his request he speaks of. Then I might make an exception~. Hey, don't hit me, you imp! Although I probably deserved that..."

"I'll make sure to save you a dance, _Aurora,_" he teased and the raven inwardly blanched. _He was only joking!_

With one last glance back at Gilbert, to which the raven responded with a small reassuring smile, he left the two of them alone in the room.

"So get on with it then," he prompted, his features slack and bored. But there hidden in his red eye – only the second person he'd encountered with an eye that color – was unmistakable curiosity. He could play on that. This man was already turning out to be a handful. But he didn't have to _like_ him, that's not what he was here for.

But his earlier confidence was replaced with sudden butterflies.

"Yes, ah, actually..." he bowed and blurted out as if it were one word, "I-want-to-request-training-from-you."

Break eyed him, guarded.

"Training, hm... training for what?"

Gilbert opened his mouth and hastily tried to explain.

"Currently I'm just a useless servant but I've been told I have some talent with a sword in the past – um - my old master's nephew often spoke of you, telling me you were strong, and I'm willing to travel here if I must or train odd hours, whatever's convenient..." he paused and took a breath. He was so nervous he was rambling. What if he said no...? "So please, I want to train under you."

The man bounced about dramatically, swishing his sleeves around and Gilbert wondered how he ever felt nervous asking this man for help.

"What is it I'll get in return for helping you? Surely you don't expect me to settle for helping you out of the goodness of my heart," he said, training his skeptical eye on the raven.

He expected this. Confidently, he took a breath, "I can give you information on the Nightray family."

Break stopped in front of him and smiled, but it was humorless. His eye searched his before sweeping over the features of his face. "I could quite like you, you know," he said.

Gilbert stared at him blankly.

"Is that a yes?"

The man _pouted_. "You were so cute only a moment ago, dear Gilbert~. Is Oz converting you into an uncute brat too?"

"He's not... converting me into anything. He has nothing to do with this."

Speaking with Break was proving to be exhausting.

"Ah, but he does!" the man said before grasping his shoulders and leaning in close, "This is for him after all, isn't it?"

To be honest, Gilbert didn't quite know the answer to that question himself. Yes, this was for Oz, but mainly it was for himself. But really, weren't the two becoming one in the same anyway…? To protect Oz, to have a purpose, a goal…

Break let go of his shoulders and turned around, pacing, "Did he tell you that he and Alice are engaged, hm? Oh, and the wedding is next spring, of course. I'll just have to hope she whisks him off to Germany so I never have to see his uncute face again! Let me ask you though, does she happen to wear a locket around her neck that you know of?" he asked, staring down his nose at him.

His stomach plummeted when he heard the date of the wedding, but he kept a straight face. No, no one had told him that. But why was this relevant...? And the locket...?

Anxiety pooled beneath his ribcage.

"Um, yes, she does. Why, what is it?"

"Hmm, yes, very interesting..." he paused, dramatically drumming his fingers along his jaw.

"Why... is that important? I asked her if it was a gift from Oz, but she told me it wasn't my business."

A grin broke out slowly across the man's face. Perhaps he said too much already.

"Let me ask you this, Gilbert, do you _want_ it to be a gift from Oz?"

What the hell did _that_ mean?

"Is this ah, relevant to my training?"

The man threw his hands up in the air, "No," he announced, and the raven barely resisted rolling his eyes. "This just makes it more interesting if I do so happen to accept your offer."

And _what _exactly was interesting about Alice's locket? Or their wedding, which was apparently happening way sooner than he imagined. He felt sick. Suddenly, joining Oz at the party didn't seem appealing at all.

"Hm, yes, I see..." he said, even though Gilbert hadn't said anything, "I've decided!"

It was really difficult to take this man seriously considering he just oozed eccentricity. But then, he found, this man seemed to have the unique (unsettling) ability to read beneath the underneath. And though he seemed entirely indifferent (not to mention insensitive) to any information he might learn, the raven felt he had an old spirit that he could trust despite only being maybe a few years older than himself. But, of course, he'd limit the information he gave so as to keep Elliot out of harm's way.

"I'll do it! Your first errand is to find out any information on Alice's locket that you can," he said, reaching into his inside coat pocket for a... lollipop. He would've reacted to how bizarre it was, but his words were even more baffling.

Gilbert deadpanned, "Since when are _errands_ part of sword training? And I said I'd give you information on the Nightrays, not Alice."

"Ah, yes," he came close again and stuck his lollipop next to Gilbert's lips, but didn't touch them. "But now you're _curious_, aren't you? You know that I know something and now you need to know as well. You could wait," he made a show of shrugging and swirling the lollipop around his mouth once. His thin ruby red lips turned upwards in a smirk around the stick, "I'm sure you'd find out eventually whether it was Oz who gave it to her or perhaps... someone _else,_ hm."

"What do you mean someone else?" he asked before he could help it. He could see what the man was trying to do, stir up trouble, and he wanted to ignore him and leave the subject alone, but now... There was very little he knew about Alice and Oz's relationship, mostly because he could never muster up the courage to ask about it. Maybe he was simply too cowardly to hear the answers to his questions.

"Ah ah ah," he said, tapping a new lollipop on the raven's lips with each syllable. When did he even take another out...? A little disgruntled, he stood his ground, which was far too close to Break for his liking. As a side thought, this confirmed his fears. It wasn't the closeness of any other person he craved, it really was just... He quickly smothered that thought as Break went on to explain, "That is for you to find out. Since I don't much_ care_ for the brat."

The man smirked, running the dry lollipop over the raven's lips as he spoke, his one eye trained on his own. The way he'd put emphasis on 'care' ruffled his feathers a bit, but he refused to play into his game. He narrowed his eyes a bit, nearing his limit.

A knock on the door made him jump briefly and Gilbert expected Break to give him space, but he didn't, so Oz was greeted with an interesting scene involving the two of them and a lollipop...

"Um," the noble blinked and Gilbert's eyes widened impossibly before he quickly stumbled away from the scandalous man. He probably did that on purpose, and judging from his expression, he was right. "Was that request something perverted after all...?"

Oz smirked, but the raven still felt the need to defend himself, "N-no!"

But the blond just snorted. At least he was capable of reading a situation, or that might've ended badly.

"Well then _Gilbert,_ do you still intend to keep this a secret from your master?"

Gilbert glowered at him, put off by his pleased grin, but then shook his head, "No, I guess not. Um... Master Oz, Break has agreed to let me train under him."

Suddenly it felt stupid that he kept this from Oz in the first place. What if he wasn't okay with it...? Maybe it'd take too much time out of his daily duties, making him even _more _useless... He looked at him warily.

Oz approached him and ruffled his hair. "That's great, Gil," he said, and the raven, detecting no sarcasm, smiled warmly at him.

"Ah, yes, _now_ you're cute," he said to Gilbert, then turned to Oz, "You should see him when you're not around, it's not a pretty sight."

The blond glanced at Gilbert, then chuckled, "Yes, you tend to have that effect on people, Break."

"Anyway, I expect you here at 8am on the dot the day after next. Any later and I'll assume you're not showing up and attend to more important matters than attending to you, like my morning tea," he said as if reluctant. "That is, if I even feel like training you." He set a hard look on him, daring him to counter. Somehow, despite the constant condescension, it seemed Break was much kinder than he seemed to let on. Even though he _was_ quite irritating.

"I'm sure I'm capable of _forgetting_ some vital pieces of information if need be..." he muttered. He knew he was pushing his luck, but he was losing patience.

Break narrowed his eyes, but he was clearly amused. "I will be relaying to milady how much of an _uncute _brat you really are, my dear Gilbert~. Not that that stops her from tagging along with _Oz,_" he said, pouting dramatically. "Then I am off!"

He skipped out into the hallway. At least he shut the door behind himself. Gilbert didn't move because Oz made no move for the door.

"Is everything okay, master?"

"Well... I didn't want to say anything when Break was around, but..."


	15. Chapter XIII: Pipsqueak Nightray

**Raven, Abducted**

**Warning: **abuse including implied rape of a minor, OOC, AU, tons of angst and fluff

**A/N:** Sorry for not updating sooner, I've been editing and second-guessing myself, you know how that goes- But thank you for reading, thank you for the reviews, you guys are really awesome...! Also, note I have _no idea_ how Victorian telephones are supposed to work, shh-

* * *

**Chapter XIII: Pipsqueak Nightray**

* * *

When Oz left earlier and returned to the ballroom, the party was already in full swing. When he didn't see Alice or Sharon right away, he decided to drop by the drink table. After pouring himself some punch, he took a sip and surveyed the room. The ballroom was large and divided into two parts. Thus the set up made it difficult to see anyone on the dance floor, since it was practically a separate room. Frowning, and deciding against diving into the fray, he leaned against a pillar bisecting the room with his drink in hand. Hopefully those two would notice him eventually; this was the first party he thought he could possibly enjoy if given the chance. Maybe he'd even dance; it's been a while since he's done that. At least, done so and enjoyed it.

Taking another sip of his punch while watching the numerous bodies float around the dance floor, he made a face. Was there alcohol in this? There were children here... Oh well, if he held his breath he couldn't really taste it anyway. Then his thoughts turned wicked; what would Gil be like drunk? He'd probably be a sad sloppy drunk; that would be just like him.

"Gil," he mouthed thoughtfully. The nickname had simply rolled off his tongue in the heat of the moment. His servant couldn't even call him Oz and he was already giving him a nickname. He wondered if Gil had ever been called as such before.

The current song ended and some couples left the floor. Sidestepping out of the way of the flood of pairs headed to the drink table, he contemplated making a break for it to find his companions. But before he could, he felt a tug on his arm.

"Uh?" he said, not expecting the contact.

"Who are you?" a little boy, probably around Ada's age, demanded. He blinked down at him. He had ash blond hair and bright blue eyes. They definitely had never met and he couldn't place him in any particular house; his features weren't that unique. His brow furrowed a bit at his tone.

He opened his mouth to respond, when a voice overrode him, "Hey, pipsqueak, isn't it nice manners to give your name before asking for someone else's?"

Ah, so Alice had found him.

"It's okay, Alice," he reassured, then patiently introduced himself to the boy, "I'm Oz Vessalius. And you?"

The boy puffed out his chest proudly, "Elliot Nightray. I'm here with my father, the duke."

Oz's eyes widened for a split second. Nightrays were not supposed to be here! Even dressed in Alice's clothing, if Gil were spotted he could be in danger... Technically taking him in was kidnap, since the consent of a servant meant nothing to the courts. The only thing protecting him was his family name, since the courts might refuse a case between two noble households of the same standing. Not to mention even a claim from the Nightray household could mean war between the families. But didn't the Nightrays have ties to the police force...? Ah, but why is this kid still looking at _him_?

"I see, it's nice to meet you, Elliot. But I have somewhere else to be..." he tried, kicking off the pillar, but the boy wouldn't let him budge. He stood his ground, placing his hands on his hips in an attempt to intimidate. Oz blinked down at him.

"I'm actually looking for someone, he's my friend."

Oz's stomach turned and he quickly downed his punch, now hoping the alcohol might mask some of his nervous energy. The chances of this boy associating him with Gil were small, anyway. Perhaps he thought Oz was simply in the ideal position to spot his lost friend in the ballroom.

"Ah, did he come here with you...?"

"No," he said, "He's lost. My uncle said he ran away and I'm trying to find him."

Ah. This was definitely bad. He glanced at Alice, who stood by and watched the exchange with interest. He prayed she wouldn't say anything about Gil; he'd warned her, but he never knew when it came to her.

He tried his best to feign moderate interest.

"That's too bad. Why do you think he'd be here?"

"Mmm," he put a finger up to his lip as if in thought as he smirked, "Because I saw him in Reveille with you!"

Oz felt moisture gather under his bangs. What? Shit. Well, it was just a kid...

He looked to the side before flicking his eyes back to hopeful blue orbs.

"You think? I go to Reveille sometimes, yes, but I don't know who your friend is, Elliot. I'm sorry to disappoint you." He kept his tone as nonchalant as possible.

He really needed to escape this in case Duke Nightray decided to ask for a word. But he was already in a sticky situation, since he'd given his name. If this boy decided to tell his father, well, there was nothing he could do but try to deny it. But to avoid that he needed to leave _now._

"How do you know? You didn't even ask what my friend looks like!" he said, jabbing a finger toward his nose accusingly, as if he'd just solved the case. Oz stared down the finger thrust into his smug face in mild surprise. The nerve of this kid. In any other situation, he'd be impressed, but right now... He was worried for Gil. If Elliot knew what his 'friend' had escaped from, would he still be looking for him?

His patience was beginning to wane.

"Yes, well, I prefer to travel alone so there was no way I was with him," he assured, his tone dismissive now.

The boy frowned and reached into his pocket. When his hand surfaced, he held a slip of paper which he handed to Oz.

"Well he has wavy black hair and gold eyes and really pale skin," he said, "I really miss him, so if you remember anything, please give me a call."

Oz took the paper skeptically, and... oh. Despite his irritation and his concerns for his friend, he had to stifle a laugh at the poorly written name card.

_Elliot Nightray_

_Crime solver/private detective_

_01 64_

Alice walked behind the pillar, presumably to hide her giggles.

"I... I see, Elliot. Well, I'll let you know if I remember anything about your friend," he somehow said with a straight face, placing the card in his breast pocket. The boy looked pleased, then gratefully skittered away, probably to interrogate someone else... which would undoubtedly bring attention to the missing boy, which is exactly what he didn't want. There would only be one person at this event with the features described. Even if he were disguised as a female…

Dread settled in his empty stomach. He could still catch Gil before he left the study with Break…

"Hey Alice," he whispered, "I need to check on Gil. If that kid gets around, everyone in here will be looking for him. I don't want to send him home alone, so..."

"Fine," she agreed, shrugging, "I'll meet up with you later. I want to stay with Sharon for a while."

He smiled at her, grateful for her understanding. "I'll send a carriage," he promised, then left her at the pillar to hurry off to Gil.

* * *

When Oz finished recounting his conversation with Elliot, Gilbert actually found himself feeling... well, guilty, rather than frightened. _"I really miss him,"_ the boy had said, according to the blond. That struck a cord; would he never get to see him again? And on top of that, Oz insisted he was going to leave with him, missing out on the opportunity to spend time with Alice and Sharon. He knew Oz had been looking forward to this for weeks now; his excitement increased tenfold when he heard Alice was coming as well. It made him inwardly cringe with self-loathing. Even though he'd gotten the promise of training out of this visit, was it really worth cutting his master's night short?

"Master Oz, please, I can get home myself," he said for the hundredth time, climbing into the carriage they arrived in.

"Don't be silly, Gil."

Truth is, he wouldn't mind some time alone. It was a bit taxing to stay around his master, more so when Alice was around as well. After his break down in the hallway, he put a tight lid on his emotions; that wouldn't happen again. Since then, he kept his grief behind locked doors: restricted to his bed, the library, and when he was alone with his thoughts in the kitchen. Since then, Oz made an effort to spend time with him, and when they were together he could sometimes forget just how much unrequited love could hurt. It was touching, anyway, when Oz sought his presence for a game or just a stroll through the gardens. It was nice to feel his presence as he cooked, now that he was used to it. It was enough. But with Alice in the equation, his heart would give sudden pangs of anguish and he was tempted to hate her, but he was mature enough to realize his hatred was misplaced.

Who he really hated was himself. Weak and selfish. Weak because he'd let his grief overwhelm him, he'd still cry late into the night over a love he never had. Selfish because he still wanted it, _him_, even though he was spoken for. He reminded himself for the thousandth time that he didn't deserve him, that being by his side was more than enough. But often he'd realize just how much he wanted Oz to know, desperately. So he wouldn't feel so damn lonely in his agony. It was almost crippling how often his hopeless mind would simulate situations in which he'd pour his heart out. But he'd never do that, not unless Oz insisted. Maybe Oz could pat his head, and he'd move on. But he knew that would never happen. He could tell that Break knew, somehow, even though they'd literally just met. Was it so obvious? Did Alice know? Or maybe Oz already knew and chose to ignore it. That would be the worst case scenario, but he'd accept it if it were Oz's choice. Looking over at him now, he looked as composed as ever.

Would now be a good time to bring up the locket...? After second-guessing himself a few times, his mouth opened on its own.

"Master Oz?"

The blond looked over at him from where he rested his jaw against his arm on the window ledge. With those green eyes on him, he suddenly felt like anything he had to say was frivolous. It wasn't his business, hadn't Alice told him that? He was just playing into Break's hand...

"Ah... sorry, nevermind."

Oz gave up his spot at the window to lean forward on the edge of the bench, cornering him in on the other side. His cheeks were a tiny bit flushed, his eyes a little glassy. Gilbert wrinkled his nose; Oz didn't seem the type to drink.

"Have you been drinking?" he asked with a hint of exasperation; it wouldn't do to take him too seriously if he had been.

Oz pouted, "Only a little. But this is no fair, Gil, you've been keeping far too many secrets from me~," he whined. Part of him resisted the urge to lean forward, to shorten the gap; the thought sent a pang through his chest and he visibly winced before he could stop it. Oz blinked at him.

"Gil?"

"I'm fine, it's just... a headache. You should make sure to drink some water before you sleep," he lied (horribly) while changing the subject, carefully maintaining control of his features. He averted his eyes out the window to the dark moving landscape.

_You don't need to trap me in, Oz, I'm already trapped._

He knew Oz _knew_ that there was something else, but was too considerate of his feelings to ask. After that break down, he'd had many opportunities to inquire about it, but he never did. The frustration he felt was evident, though, like now when he gritted his teeth. But it was nothing compared to what he'd feel if he found out. The mood turned grim. Since he'd already brought it up and piqued his master's curiosity, he figured he might as well finish the thought...

"I was wondering..."

"Mm?"

"Well, today when Alice was helping me... she was wearing a necklace, but she wouldn't tell me anything about it."

He fidgeted with his gloves. It really was a silly question. It was only a necklace. Perhaps it was a gift from a relative, if not from Oz.

"A necklace?" He looked thoughtful, as if trying to recall it.

"Ah, um, I was just wondering, but it's really none of my business, so if you don't-"

"_Gil_," he said, slightly exasperated, but must've gotten distracted because he never said what he meant to. Gilbert looked up at him questioningly when Oz stared slightly north of his eyes, probably at his hair. The blond reached out and his heart gave a jolt, but he simply removed his wig and headdress and placed them beside him on the bench. "There," he said with a pleased smile, "I prefer you this way."

Heat flooded his face as he processed the meaning behind his words. So Oz preferred him... male? It was slightly frustrating, these little things he did that would bend his resolve to keep his emotions at bay so easily. If he criticized him just once, he could fixate on that and grow from it, maybe let this painful attraction go.

Oz smirked slightly at his red cheeks, likely not thinking anything of it, but he didn't seem to have the energy to tease him tonight. Gilbert almost wished he would, anything to rid him of this tension.

"So anyway, you said she was wearing a necklace? What kind of necklace?"

Shouldn't he remember it if it was he who gave it to her? Shit, maybe Break was right. He didn't count on this; now he'd have to add it to the ever-growing list of things that he could draw hope from. He hated that list. It replayed silently in the forefront of his mind constantly, and he had to remind himself again and again that he could never have him.

But he didn't want to hurt Oz; he didn't know the significance of the locket, it could be harmless, but there was a small chance it wasn't. He couldn't just drop the subject now, not when he already had once.

"A locket," he said carefully, watching closely for Oz's reaction, "It was gold. I don't know what was inside, since she hid it when I mentioned it."

A look of recognition briefly crossed over Oz's face and then... acceptance. What did that mean?

After a few long moments of silence, the blond finally spoke again but changed the subject. Gilbert wondered if he was trying to mask his reaction to his observation; it seemed Break was right after all. He didn't know how to feel about it, though, since it was unclear if the blond was hurt by it. And he didn't know the nature of Oz and Alice's relationship, anyway. He still wasn't certain he wanted to.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up-"

"It's just that I don't know much about it," he said dismissively, smiling reassuringly as he brushed the subject off with the hint of a furrowed brow, "So... how exactly did you convince Break to train you? And how did you even hear about him?"

Yes, if Oz wanted to change the subject, he'd play along. It wasn't his intention to create drama. Why did he even ask in the first place…? He cursed his curiosity. Hurting Oz was the last thing he wanted.

"Well, I told him I'd trade him information about the Nightrays. I'm not sure if I know enough of anything important, but it was all I had really... And as for having heard of him, Elliot often spoke highly of him. He told me it was his dream to train under Break one day. He was... quite different from how he'd described him. I wonder if he knew him if he'd still admire him so much..." He said the last bit with a small smile at the expense of the eccentric man.

Oz frowned, "Does he make you uncomfortable?"

His smile widened a bit. It was odd how in retrospect he actually kind of liked the man. "Not really. I can tell he's just trying to rile me up for his amusement. Why, does he... make you uncomfortable?"

"Heh, when he's not calling me a stupid brat I could almost call us friends," he snorted, continuing to stare out the window thoughtfully, "But... did he say anything strange to you?"

"Strange?" He thought about it for a moment. He'd said a lot of strange things. Most of which having to do with Oz. "He didn't say anything strange in particular, Master Oz," he replied vaguely.

"It's Oz."

His tone was serious, as if he'd said it automatically while his mind was occupied with something else. Since when did his master's eyes become so troubled?


	16. Chapter XIV: Fear

**Raven, Abducted**

**Warning: **abuse including implied rape of a minor, OOC, AU, tons of angst and fluff

**A/N:** For whatever reason I've been struggling with my writing lately- Anyway, thank you all for your reviews!

* * *

**Chapter XIV: Fear**

* * *

Ever since the party over the weekend, Oz was having trouble sleeping. And when he did finally fall unconscious, more often than not the rest was unfulfilling and riddled with nightmares. Sometimes he'd wake up panting and sweating, throwing the covers down to the bottom of the bed to bunch up. Sometimes they were already bunched up from bouts of struggles in his dreams. His dreams involved Gilbert being found, strung up, beaten, tortured, once even slashed to bits. He didn't even know before this that his imagination could be so violent; after all, the only violence he was ever exposed to was in his books. And he often opted out of that genre. Maybe the scenes stemmed from his lack of knowledge of his servant's days before this. What kind of torture had he endured? He'd wondered this from the very beginning. But how could you ask someone to relay to you the abuse they went through? If Gil wanted to tell him, then he'd welcome him to open up. But he was as closed off as ever despite how close Oz wanted to believe they were.

This is why he never wanted to let someone intrude on his inner psyche; it seemed like his mind was always filled with Gil. It was disconcerting to have any emotional dependence on someone else. It was plausible that Gil only served him out of duty over friendship. After all, he never confessed any mutual feelings of such when he had. Maybe he was just lonely and Oz was the only one available. Perhaps he felt the need to pay him back for giving him an escape from his hell. It hurt to think about. Sometimes it felt like his servant was on a different level than him, given his mysterious ailment that worried Oz to no end, and his ability to make the blond feel, well, anything. And every night that nothing happened, his paranoia grew rather than weakened because he knew if he let his guard down, someone might slip in and this house of cards would scatter. He placed guards outside both their bedrooms and beside every door leading to the outside. He just couldn't trust a little boy to keep his mouth shut, even if he felt guilty, as if he were the one keeping him from Gil. And on top of this, the raven insisted on traveling to the Rainsworth mansion unescorted. After a couple mild arguments, he finally agreed to at least take a carriage rather than make the long trek on foot.

Plus, he'd realized with reluctance, that he kind of missed having him around when he left every morning. It was surprising that Break had taken such an interest in him that he agreed to this training. But considering the way everyone who met Gil acted around him, it wasn't too surprising. Break was always unpredictable anyway, it was futile to try to predict his reasoning. Was it really all for information...? Maybe it was for Sharon's sake; did she sit in on their training sessions? It was obvious she'd taken quite a liking to Gil. The thought didn't sit well with him, for some reason.

On this particular night, his thoughts ran rampant and scattered. Tossing on his mattress, he eventually sat up and stretched. It must still be the middle of the night judging by the depth of the silence and the pale glow of moonlight. He stared out the window, the only light source, but there wasn't much to see but the black backdrop of trees. He thought of the wedding, something he recently avoided, which was odd. In the past, he'd been excited by the thought of marrying Alice. But now, maybe it was just cold feet, but it made him nervous. He didn't really want his life to change all of a sudden, at least not in that direction. Not in her direction. What did that mean...? He loved her, he did. They'd been promised to each other since the age of twelve and he was ecstatic. The feeling was mutual, they were both marrying the person of their dreams. Well, except the person of his dreams...

...was literally...

...

His mind went blank. The result of an over-exhausted mind that's gone without sleep for too long. Whatever his last thought was though, it felt important. But if it was really so important, he wouldn't have forgotten it.

Thinking of the wedding made him wonder about Alice's thoughts on the matter. Gil told him about the locket she wore, no, wore and _hid_, the locket he never gave her, the locket that...

...had been passed down in his family for many generations...

But it wasn't he who had come to acquire it; he'd been offered it, but requested the pocket-watch instead. He didn't need another heirloom if it would just be stuffed in a drawer forgotten. He'd had his doubts for a while now, but this confirmed them.

Jack Vessalius. His cousin. The two of them always clashed and kept a mutual distance from each other. He didn't particularly dislike the man, but he wasn't fond of him either. But Jack, well, he was much more hostile towards him and he never understood why, but was beginning to. It was Alice and always had been. The fact that he'd given his fiance a family heirloom, probably out of love, and the fact that she _wore_ it and hid it from him...

It didn't even hurt like he thought it would. It just made sense. He wasn't even angry. Alice loved him, yes, that had always been true, and he'd always loved her as well. But their love stretched no farther than deep friendship. That was more apparent now than ever.

In all these years, though, he'd never questioned the fact that they'd wed. Eventually even have children. He could spend his life with his best friend; he didn't require more than that. But recently... recently what?

And did Alice intend to marry him wearing the gifted heirloom of another man? It was absurd. Obviously he'd need to confront her about it… eventually...

He heard a sound, breaking his train of thoughts. It was quiet and there was no way he would've been able to hear it had it not been a silent, windless night like tonight. Again, a muffled sound that made his body react instinctively despite not quite being able to localize it. Tensing, feeling the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, he furrowed his brow and concentrated. It was probably nothing. But he'd been so paranoid, all sorts of possibilities fluttered to the front of his mind to plague him.

Crawling as quietly as possible out of bed, he tiptoed over to the door separating him from Gil's room. It felt like a cliché, but he pressed his ear up to the cool wood of the door. There was silence for a moment, but then... his heart tightened as if a fist were clenched around it. He heard an unmistakable choking sound and froze.

_Gil, you..._

Jumping away from the door as if he'd been burned, he stared at the dark paneling uncertainly. Should he listen to his gut instinct and barge in, or give him his privacy? _Shit, shit shit shit. _This... what was happening to Gil that he wouldn't tell him? It hurt, his chest felt tight and squeezed imagining Gil crying alone in his bed. It wasn't _fair_, it wasn't. It made him feel useless to be standing here while his servant was obviously in pain. So...

...should he knock first?

Trembling from nerves, he figured yes, he should probably knock. Regardless of the answer, he'll go in. So why was it so difficult to lift up his hand...?

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath; as soon as he did so, he remembered the sound he heard earlier that twisted his insides. With a renewed energy, he knocked quietly. Pressing his ear against the door again, he heard nothing. What if he'd just imagined the sounds and stupidly woke a perfectly fine Gil up?

Well, this door should be open _anyway_, seeing as how the majority of his concerns revolved around the occupant of the other room. But he thought he was just being overprotective and silly. He probably was.

Ignoring his sudden doubts, he gripped the doorknob and tentatively pushed before he could change his mind.

"Gil?"

Silence. He could just barely make out the raven's form on the bed, turned away from him. He was stubbornly pretending to be asleep. Now that he could see that he was okay, at least physically, his presence put him more at ease.

"Gi-il," he cooed into the darkness, but there was still no movement.

Damnit, then...

He plopped himself down on the edge of the mattress, making the whole bed shake. Still no movement.

Frowning and growing increasingly worried, he leaned over the dark figure, trying to make out any features. "What if I were dying, huh? What kind of servant would you be if you slept through the gruesome slaughter of your own master?"

He reached a hand up to the indent in the pillow, and managed to find a curl to twirl between his fingers. Almost immediately, Gil's hand shot out and gently but firmly grabbed his wrist to stop him.

"Oz, please, don't..."

Said blond felt a jolt that started in his chest and spread outward. He swallowed, unable to focus on much else other than Gil's hand around his wrist. He blinked down at the dark mass of his servant.

"You called me Oz."

The hand on his wrist tightened, then loosened and fell away completely, as the raven realized that he had, indeed, called him Oz. Just Oz. Not _master_ or _master Oz_. But there was no response, not even an apology.

"Hey," he said gently, reaching forward again, now confidently finding his face. His fingertips found his forehead and began to move of their own accord. He raked his fingernails gently across the expanse, ridding it of any loose curls, and he felt Gil shiver at the touch. He thought he shivered too, but wasn't sure. He paused for a moment. But since the raven wasn't pushing him away anymore... maybe he was doing something right.

His mind felt blank here, in the middle of the night, sitting with Gil who was crying and refused to tell him why. Gil, who just called him Oz, just Oz, and they were both trembling. Why was he trembling? The room was hot. Gil sniffled despite himself, and the sound was loud in the silent room.

Letting his fingertips skim over his temple, then down to the curve of his cheek, he found the dampness that concerned him in the first place. And then up, to where new tears pooled along the bridge of his nose. He wished he could see his face. Taking his hand back, he sat up, now fully kneeling on the bed.

"If you're not going to talk to me, at least let me..." _Let me _what?

But the raven just curled in on himself, forming a tight ball.

"It's not like I can see you anyway. Come on, you're being silly. Will you... sit up...?"

He sniffled again and Oz expected him to refuse, but then he leaned on an elbow, wiped his face on his sleeve, and knelt in front of him. Oz smiled a little sadly into the darkness, at least he was making progress.

"If you won't talk to me, will you answer some questions?" he tried, "You don't even need to talk, you can just shake your head yes or no."

Hesitantly, because it was so dark he couldn't accurately see the movement, he lifted his hand toward the other and cupped his face. He had to scoot forward a bit to do so.

He felt Gil nod his head yes, a bit reluctantly. His heart lifted a little.

"Okay, then... is this the same thing you were sad about last time, uh, in the hallway?"

A nod.

"Is it... my fault?"

A small pause, then he shook his head no. He could've sworn, hm...

"Is it about me?" he reworded. Gil would never say something was his fault.

A hesitant nod. Oz released a breath, feeling guilty now that his fears were confirmed. Absentmindedly, he lifted the pad of his thumb to collect the tears from his eyelashes. At least they stopped falling...

Gil had really long eyelashes...

"Does this bother you?" He was surprised when that question slipped out, he hadn't even thought it before he said it. This closeness, this intimacy, Oz wondered if it bothered him too, with the way it made him feel nervous, suffocated even... Did friends even do this?

Gil's head shook no.

"Do you miss your old master?" he asked, then bit his lip. It was a fear he had, a possibility.

A pause (Oz held his breath), then no.

"Do you still want to serve me?"

A nod, no hesitation. The blond's heart soared for a moment, before retightening. A question was at the forefront of his mind, but he didn't want to acknowledge it and he didn't know why. It felt so simple, but made his pulse echo in his ears at the thought of voicing it. He'd have to try, he had to know, if he was wrong he'd be back to phase one, but if he was right...

"Is it Alice?"

A long pause that shattered his heart in two with confusion and something else, then Gil broke the contact by twisting his face to the side. He jerked his hand back.

"What's wrong with Alice?" he demanded, his tone laced with a bit of impatience even as he tried to keep quiet. "Are you- by chance-"

Gil was openly shivering now.

"W-wait-"

"Sh-shit, Gil, what is _that _supposed to mean?" His voice shook along with the rest of his body and he stumbled off the bed, more confused than he'd ever been in his entire life. The message was clear, though, _jealousy_, and in the back of his head he knew he was overreacting. But he couldn't help it, and he backed up into his room and slammed the door behind him. He jumped when he heard another knock; it was the guard outside the door.

"We're fine!" he yelled, just so he'd go away. But they weren't, nothing was fine anymore. Gil was _jealous_ of Alice, jealous enough that it had been plaguing him for _days_, jealous enough that he lay in his bed in the middle of the night crying. Earlier he'd been questioning his _friendship, _he never expected something like this! He was angry, irrationally so; he felt like throwing something, but didn't want to wake the rest of the mansion doing so. He kicked his dresser with the top of his foot, but hell, that just _hurt _and he didn't feel any better. Instead, he paced, tearing at his hair, seething. What was he supposed to be feeling...? How was this fair, that he could hurt Gil so deeply unintentionally while still expecting his friendship? He was the lowest of the low, and he didn't know what to do. He stopped pacing to rest his forehead on the door separating them with a _thump_.

This was never supposed to happen.

In a moment of clarity, he realized just how horribly he reacted and how he'd probably made everything innumerable times worse. And how banging his head on the door was probably more alarming than constructive. With a growl, furious with himself and his inability to cope in a situation like this, he forced himself to calm down. Once he had and settled himself back into his bed (not that he'd be able to sleep), he stuffed his ears with pillows in case he could hear how much he'd just hurt his friend, more than a friend...

He knew he could barge back in there, ask for forgiveness, possibly make all this right, but he hated himself too much at the moment. And hell, it was _terrifying_ to know that the boy in the other room had such an effect on him, that he could possibly feel something that wasn't just platonic, a feeling he never got to experience with Alice...

It hurt. And he knew Gil was hurt too and he knew it was his fault, even if he denied it. He should've known, but instead he let him deteriorate alone. It hurt that he _cared._ Since when did he allow himself to care about anyone other than himself?

Thoughts in circles, he lay restlessly until late morning. There was someone he had to see today; he hated to admit that there was one person who probably knew much more than he did.

* * *

Gilbert almost woke up late. Blinking a heavy eye open, he realized it was already light in the room. His head felt foggy, his eyes irritated and swollen. What...?

...Oh.

Dread flooded his gut and tears flooded his eyes without warning and he had to actively concentrate to keep them at bay.

Last night, he hadn't meant to give himself away. Things were always so simple in the moonlight. And this pain, this plague, had been haunting him for so many nights and days. He... at the moment it... it felt impossible to lie, not to Oz. He expected laughter, disinterest, not anger, not disgust. But Oz was disgusted with him now, absolutely sickened by him. It was apparent by how he'd jerked away as if burnt, as if he were contagious and mad. And then the bangs, against furniture, against the door, each one sent him into a flurry of anxiety. Curled in on himself, he cried. He cried so hard he expected his ribs to snap. He muffled the almost silent scream-sobs into his pillow and cried himself to exhaustion.

And here he was, but he wished he wasn't. Things would be simpler if he never woke up. Or maybe had he just died that night from his head injury. Oz didn't deserve this, a mess of a servant who couldn't keep a lid on his emotions. A mess of a servant who felt such things in the first place.

What could he do now...?

Sitting up, his head spun. His eyes were probably red and swollen judging by their soreness. He stared blankly out the window at the dimly lit trees illuminated by the early sun. It felt like there was a hole where his heart used to be. Numb. But even the faintest inkling of the night before crossing his mind caused a gathering of fresh tears, and hopelessness filled him to the brim. He plugged his nose to hold in his sniffles, afraid that the sound may carry over to the noble's room and further aggravate the wound.

He had had more of Oz than he'd ever deserved, but now... And Alice, she loved Oz and deserved better than this as well.

This was his one chance to feel human, to go on without simply _enduring_, without the selfishness that was his old master, to have a place to belong, and he blew it. It _hurt_ to hate himself so much.

Running his hands through his hair, he weighed his options in his head.

He could run. He could do it now, while Oz's disgust with him was still fresh enough to keep him from following. But wasn't that selfish as well? Did his resolve mean nothing?

The only logical option... was to apologize and learn to live with this deteriorating despair. But how? He wondered if he were a good enough actor that he could play it off as a misunderstanding, that his feelings were strictly platonic and childish. Maybe the nights spent crying had more to do with his adjustment to change than his jealousy of Alice. The story sounded foolproof in his head, but it turned his stomach to even think of spitting it out to Oz. He was too honest for his own good, a statement well supported by the events of last night. So... he'd have to apologize, which would mean confirming the blond's suspicions of the quality of his emotions for him. It was odd, though, how the noble reacted to his almost-statement of jealousy. It wasn't even a confession. As if he knew somehow, maybe subconsciously, of his feelings. A new wave of shame wracked his frame. That meant Alice would know as well; if not _yet,_ then soon. As undesirable as this option was, it was the only one that held any hope to reconcile their relationship.

Tearing his fatigued eyes from the peaceful scenery of the sunrise, he forced his heavy limbs to assume a standing position. It was a bit earlier than he usually set out for the Rainsworth mansion, but maybe if he left early he wouldn't need to encounter Oz... _Coward_, he thought. But in reality, it was more so that he wanted to leave before he'd have to witness the noble avoiding _him_, which was inevitable but painful to imagine.

So for now... he dressed numbly, slipped on his shoes, gloves, and coat - thereby unfortunately coating himself in items from Oz – and forgoing the usual carriage, set out to the Rainsworth mansion on foot.


	17. Chapter XV: Resolution

**Raven, Abducted**

**Warning: **abuse including implied rape of a minor, OOC, AU, tons of angst and fluff

**A/N:** Thank you The Taloned Merlin for beta-ing! Also, thank you for the reviews; I smile over each one, and they mean a lot. I apologize for the sporadic updates.

* * *

**Chapter XV: Resolution**

* * *

Late morning, close to noon, Oz stood hesitantly in front of the door to the Rainsworth mansion. He figured by this time that Gil would have finished his training and headed home...

He swallowed as if actively suppressing the doubt he felt behind that statement. Gil did go to train...right? And by now he was probably in the kitchen at home, wearing his stained apron and deaf to the world beyond his bubble of cookery. Normally, Oz would be in there with him, if not entertaining Alice in the sitting area next door. But what if... Gil didn't show up today? He ran once, so it was possible he ran again... no! Gil was...different now. He'd promised to stay, said that he _wanted_ to stay; but considering how he'd been treated last night, Oz wouldn't be surprised if he bolted. He deserved it. And not just for last night.

There was a part of him that denied just how much he desired Gil's promise to be unconditionally true – the same part that caused his heart to beat against his breastbone in trepidation as he yet again reluctantly thought over the events of the previous night. Now, staring at the large, ornate oak doors of the Rainsworth mansion, he felt small.

He lifted his fist, but just when his knuckles were about to make contact with the door, he froze again and lowered his arm. His mind wandered and stalled. He knew the carriage driver behind him was watching curiously, and Oz turned to give him a small nod of reassurance. What was Alice up to at this hour? Maybe this idea was stupid; he should really be paying her more attention, considering that their time together was so limited. He inadvertently took a step back and his boot crunched over the brick of the porch.

But as quickly as the thought came, it left. It seemed that his musings of his fiancée were often overrun and perhaps overwhelmed by thoughts of his new servant: eating, tearing, chewing through his brain until it was mush driven by emotions he couldn't fathom. The same ones that made him take a step forward, made him shiver as he took in the overbearing double doors whose echo jerked him awake when his knuckles finally made contact with the smooth surface. The sound hung in the air for probably only a moment, but his lungs told him he'd had enough time to run a mile or more before the lock clicked and a pretty face peeked out.

"Oz," Sharon greeted, almost as if she were expecting him. The thought was crushing; was Gil really in such a state? No, he didn't deserve it; Oz couldn't quite fathom that someone might think so highly of him.

"Sharon," he returned, feigning a small smile, but feeling as though heavy weights hung on the corners of his mouth.

She moved aside as an invitation to enter, and he did. She began to lead him down the hallway – he didn't know to where, but he learned quickly in their friendship to not ask such questions and just _do_ – and he followed some steps behind out of courtesy for intruding on her home.

"Wow, your servants waste no time cleaning up, do they?" he observed. Every corner seemed spotless and dust-free, and even the candlesticks seemed burnished as if brand new: an improvement since the party only a few days ago.

"Hm, yes, Break can be quite...persuasive," she smirked in affectionate exasperation. Oz wasn't sure if he wanted to know Break's persuasive techniques, especially if someone like Sharon found them impressive. Mind preoccupied, he hummed in response. They continued to advance in silence down the sound-absorbing carpet of the corridor. Oz wracked his mind for the correct words to ask for what he was looking for. He didn't even notice when she stopped in front of a door that, he could have sworn, led to an upper level balcony of the ballroom, and halted short of crashing into her.

"Ah...sorry, spaced out," he said, scratching at the back of his head in abashment.

"I'm sure you didn't come here to inquire about the cleanliness of our estate," she teased with a genuine smile that always heightened his humour despite himself. But soon after, considering his reasons for being here, he quickly sobered and dropped his gaze to the floor, studying the outlines of the ivy-pattern on the carpet.

"Is Break around? I'd like to talk to him, if that's all right."

"That's fine, but..." She turned towards him thoughtfully and he felt small under her sagacious gaze, "He and Gilbert have been training all morning."

He looked up and caught her eye, surprised, "You mean he's still...?"

She smirked and fiddled with the fan she always held in her grasp, "Yes, it's a good thing Break didn't hear you knock, considering how you're blatantly avoiding his apprentice..."

"I'm not avoiding him –"

"But you were surprised that he was still here, weren't you? I bet you showed up late on purpose, too." She sighed dramatically. "You're more transparent than you think, Oz. You don't need Break; anyone can see what's going on with you."

Though her words seemed blunt, her tone was soft. She was right: he hadn't even considered speaking with her for answers, despite their long friendship. It made him feel guilty, but before he could apologize she inquired with a sly smile, "Would you like to watch?"

"...Watch? I'm sure he wouldn't want to see me right now, or ever, really..." He practically whispered the last part. "I could wait, or maybe I should go."

Her smile turned into a wicked grin at his last statement and he immediately wished he could take his words back.

She hummed mysteriously and covered her mouth with her paper fan – an open threat. "I never said I was giving you a choice." She grabbed his arm and dragged him towards the door they were standing beside.

"Ah, wait, Sharon, even if I do, he won't want to see me. I should probably give him some space –"

"That's why we're here, silly. This is a balcony of the ballroom, but they're on the ground floor. If we're quiet, Gilbert won't even know you're there."

Without giving Oz a chance to respond, she dragged him through the doors and promptly tugged him downward by his sleeve to the floor. Her hand covered his mouth before he could emit a sound, muffling it to a small 'mmph.' Taking in his surroundings, Oz noted that she was right. They were mostly hidden by the thick railing of the balcony, which was further padded by red velvet draped around and between the bars in a weave pattern. Sharon dropped her hand and signaled for Oz to stay quiet and to look between the bars. He nodded and scooted forward, then peered between the railing. He tried not to think about how Sharon seemed so comfortable in this particular spot...

His heart jolted when he saw the figure of his servant kneeling on the ground in the middle of the ballroom. Gil was wearing what looked to be an old white shirt that hung on his slender frame – probably one of Break's, he realized and frowned – and was breathing hard. His black curls clung to his forehead and his cheeks as he bent over to catch his breath. Break circled around him with his hands clasped low behind his back.

"_Well_, Gilbert, it seems that getting dumped was rather _constructive_for you," he teased, and Oz's breathing sped up as Gil's pale hands clenched into fists on his knees.

"I was _not_ dumped," Gil argued and finally lifted his head to glare with remarkable menace. This was the side of Gil that Oz always attempted to coerce out, the particularly fascinating side he'd catch only glimpses of. Gil was much stronger than he seemed, with an impressive yet humble sense of pride. But Gil could stand valuing himself more than he did; he suspected Gil's words were more in defense of Oz than himself.

Break brought a finger to his chin in a dramatic, thoughtful gesture, "Huh, could've fooled me. I can barely even mention the brat without you getting all sulky. And that glare: hoo!" He stopped in front of Gil and deliberately, noisily, swirled a candy around his mouth. Something about the gesture was infuriating to Oz. The clown bent over to meet Gil's glare, and instead of the expected effect, it somehow seemed to drain the fight from the latter, for Gil sighed and averted his eyes. Something about _that_ gesture was also infuriating. Oz watched as Break grinned and turned and as Gilbert's hands clenched on the fabric of his knees. "Ah well, your affections are wasted on him anyway," the clown commented flippantly. Oz stopped breathing for half a second, wondering what Break meant to imply. "But either way, seeing as how you've apparently _given up_ on your training today, I suppose I could ask you a couple of questions?"

The way Break emphasized 'given up' made it obvious that he was indeed referring to something other than training.

"What?" Gil responded, but it sounded more like a statement than a question. He sounded tired, pained, and he remained kneeling on the floor despite having caught his breath minutes ago. Oz felt an overwhelming feeling of dread, and spying on what was supposed to be a private training session only added to his guilt. He didn't quite know what he was feeling guilty for, but whatever it was it gnawed at his core and made him nauseous.

He jumped, startled, when Sharon's hand met his wrist, and he looked down and then glanced up to her eyes. She smiled at him sadly, knowingly, and he supposed she was trying to reassure him.

"Are you sure you have nothing, hm, in _particular_ that you would like to share with me concerning your old master, Gilbert?" Break's voice echoed throughout the ballroom.

Gil sighed and leaned on one knee to stand up, "That depends. Is this something you want to know or something you already know about?"

Break stopped pacing to instead stare, impressed, at the young man who reached down with tired limbs to pick up his forgotten foil. Oz hadn't noticed earlier, but judging by the way his servant's clothing clung to his spine and shoulders, he seemed to be almost wasting away. It was juxtaposed, though, by the muscles that shifted between the bones. Had Gil always been so lean? Feeling heat rise beneath his collar, Oz flickered his eyes over to Break. It was hard to even look at Gil, but it was like resisting gravity. If gravity filled you with feverish guilt as well.

"You want to keep going, then? Isn't your little master expecting you for lunch about now?"

Oz's very core froze when that red eye redirected upward to glance straight at him in amusement before settling on Gil again. He meant to move but his legs were suddenly immobile. After a moment of irrational panic, it looked like Gil didn't notice or bother investigating. Instead, the boy's wrist shot out to press the foil against the white-haired man's neck threateningly. Oz didn't even see the blade move.

"Enough about my master," he said evenly.

Break raised his hands in defeat. "Mm, definitely a sore spot, I see. But you can't hide out here forever, as much as I love your company, dear Gilbert." He smirked as he spoke, his eye glinting, and Oz took a deep breath to steady his annoyance at the man's blatant flirting. Gil knew well enough not to take him seriously... right?

And then, quicker than it seemed either Gil or himself could see it, a blade pressed itself against Gil's neck and those golden eyes widened a fraction before he lowered his foil in defeat.

"Still much too slow. You may be good enough for one on one, but what will you do if you're attacked by two? Three? More?" Break asked as he circled around the young man again, dragging the tip of his foil along the pale skin of his neck, leaving a light trail of indentation in the flesh. "What if someone twice your size manages to grab your wrist before you can corner him, hm?"

He made a show of grabbing Gil's wrist with his other hand and pulled his arm awkwardly behind his back, pinning him. That face was scrunched not in anger, but in pain and disappointment. He looked so thoroughly defeated, and the damn clown wasn't letting go.

"Hey," Oz heard from next to him, and Sharon stole his attention from the floor. "It's just part of the training. It'll be worse if you barge in there, don't you think?"

He hadn't noticed that he was halfway up already, as if he were going to swoop down and save Gil in some silly heroic movement. Relaxing, he nodded. Before he could once again focus on the conversation going on down below, she whispered, "What happened, Oz? I've never seen him quite like this, and you..."

The blond wanted to ignore her, shrug her off, tell her "nothing," like he used to. But this weighed heavily on his system and it was why he was here in the first place anyway. Whatever _this_ was. He opened his mouth once, but no sound came out. How could he even begin to describe this guilt, this inescapable and inexplicable feeling of fear. It was a feeling he'd felt intermittently throughout his lifetime: the fear of loss. But you couldn't lose what you never had to begin with.

"You know then, right?"

_Know?_

"Oz."

He noticed after she said his name that his hands were shaking on the railing, so he clenched them to steady them.

"I... I don't get it."

His voice was weak and the ballroom floor suddenly seemed miles away.

"You're marrying Alice," she said steadily. A statement that had been true since before he even knew what marriage was. But suddenly it didn't seem so true and he wanted to nod, but nothing happened; his body wasn't quite listening to him anymore.

"But you don't want to," she continued as if she weren't shattering his world, as if he wasn't shaking, as if his limbs weren't suddenly insubordinate.

"It's okay, Oz."

_It's not._

He must have said that out loud because she lifted a handkerchief to his forehead and he actually flinched.

"What are you so afraid of?" she asked quietly, lowering the handkerchief and holding his clammy hand in hers.

Were they still talking about Alice? It didn't seem like they were.

She slipped her hand from his and leaned forward to look down over the ballroom again. Then she sighed dreamily. "It's a shame, really."

"What is?"

"That he's taken," she said, as if it were fact.

"Taken... what the hell is that supposed to mean?" He clenched his fists. He _rarely_ if ever lost his temper. Not him, not level-headed Oz who had no ties to anything and thus had plenty of room for emotional buffer. But he felt hot, like he could snap at any moment. The feeling was almost foreign.

It didn't help that Sharon hadn't even reacted to his tone. She just stared, crouched, with one hand against her cheek and her eyes trained downwards to the floor where the two were still conversing between hand-to-hand contact. Why did nothing faze her? Why was he the only one to lose his head, to have to feel like this, to not understand anything? Why couldn't she just say what it was she so obviously wanted to blurt out?

Then she said, looking up at him, "Not everyone is like your father, Oz."

He'd had enough. Not caring whether the other occupants of the room noticed or not, not even thinking about it, he stood up and marched out, slamming the door. Judging by the size of the room and the echoing of voices, the sound was probably more than enough to startle all occupants. He paced up and down the hall, aware now that he'd totally overreacted. His hands shook and he focused on calming himself down, feeling silly now that he was alone with his thoughts in the long corridor. Taking a deep breath, he felt some of the anger dissipate into even _more_ guilt. Just how shameful could he be? Although, Sharon had (knowingly) hit a sore spot. Whether or not it was necessary was up for debate.

About a minute later, Sharon slipped out of the door and stilled upon seeing him, obviously surprised he hadn't fled the household altogether. She opened her mouth to say something, but he beat her to it.

"No, wait," he said, holding his palm up to stop her. Then he took a moment to take a breath and run his hand through his hair to pull the strands from his damp forehead, "I didn't mean to get angry. I just... Sharon, it feels like everyone knows something I don't. And then there was last night when I did something stupid; but I'm not quite sure what I did."

He felt the trembling in his limbs subside for now. "I think I know what he meant, and what _you_ mean, but I can't wrap my head around it – ow! What was that for?"

Sharon cradled her paper fan to her chest lovingly, as if it were sentient and had just done her the great favor of smacking him over the head. "For rambling," she giggled, "and because you're overreacting."

"Is it that obvious?" The sides of his mouth sheepishly upturned a little.

"It's okay to not know how you feel, Oz. Just work from what you _know_you feel, and stop pushing us all away, or I'll have to agree with Break that you're a brat." Her mood turned grim again, and she paused. "And make sure you talk to Alice sooner rather than later, okay?"

Oz didn't know what to say, so he just nodded. That was not a conversation he was looking forward to, nor one he wanted to imagine in detail.

But the hair on the back of his neck stood up when he heard footsteps on the carpet behind him. In his momentary panic, his gaze met with with Sharon's, and she gave him a soft, reassuring smile.

"_It's okay to not know how you feel, Oz."_

Somehow, that one statement gave him enough courage to turn around just as the odd pair came within vocal distance.

"Hoo, Oz, fancy seeing you here. So is this the 'overly-excited maid' that interrupted our training session earlier, milady?" Break cooed. Oz ignored him, but not intentionally. His eyes and his attention were involuntarily caught by familiar eyes that made his heart skip a beat uncomfortably. He stared at Gil indifferently. He knew that he was considering Break's words, wondering what he saw and what he heard in the ballroom. Or perhaps wondering why he was in the ballroom to begin with. Or maybe, like Oz, he had the events of last night plastered across the forefront of his mind. The thought brought a new wave of shame over him, but he suppressed any outward reaction. After a moment, during which Oz's thoughts raced, Gil sobered. He gave a formal bow.

"Master," he greeted.

Oz blinked, desperately trying to ignore the icy feeling thrust through his chest. He swallowed, trying without success to moisten his dry throat. Instead of replying, he studied his servant. The boy was stiff like a board, his hair hanging over his brow, which gave him a shadowy appearance. One arm was tucked in front of him with his coat draped over it, but the other followed the outline of his body. The confidence Oz had seen earlier in the ballroom was gone, and was replaced by the same nerves he felt himself.

It made him feel silly. Nothing had really changed last night. If anything, Oz's understanding of Gil had only increased. But Gil was vulnerable right now. Didn't Oz say he'd protect him? He was already doing an abysmal job, and now he was letting his feelings cloud his judgment. What Gil needed right now wasn't this awkwardness, this uncertainty; he needed reassurance. But this was easier said than done.

After a thoughtful silence, Oz reached out with renewed confidence. His heart still beat strongly beneath his ribs and he felt the blood pulsing hotly under the skin of his neck, but he ignored it. Because he got what he wanted, at least in some sense. And Sharon had said it was fine to not know how he felt about Gil. And Oz loved Alice, but he was not _in love_ with Alice. He'd been selfish, thoroughly soaked in his own thoughts, and had been ignoring those of the one he'd sworn to stop ignoring.

Sharon and Break seemed to fade into the background, both uncharacteristically silent as his hand closed over the crown of Gil's head. The boy jumped a little at his touch and Oz allowed a small smile to break through his defenses. It was like releasing a long breath, the way his body relaxed with his newfound resolve. Oz ruffled his servant's hair, taking note that it was slightly damp from training, but otherwise as soft as usual. This obviously wasn't what Gil was expecting, for he looked up with wide disbelieving eyes, as if he could possibly be misjudging the situation. It sent a fresh pang of shame through Oz's chest, knowing that this was what Gil needed last night, if the purple bags under his eyes were any indication.

It was difficult to hold Gil's gaze, and the desire to falter under the hopeful look was almost too much to bear, but Oz managed to meet it, if only to pretend for a minute that the other wasn't in as much, if not more, control than he was. But it lasted only a moment before Oz looked away stubbornly, anxious that his thoughts may leak into his expression.


	18. Chapter XVI: Suspension

**Raven, Abducted**

**Warning: **abuse including implied rape of a minor, OOC, AU, tons of angst and fluff

**A/N:** (I apologize for the short chapter, it's a bit of a lead-in for the next which will not take as long as this one to upload ahhhh-)

* * *

**Chapter XVI: Suspension**

* * *

It was difficult to hold Gil's gaze, and the desire to falter under the hopeful look was almost too much to bear, but Oz managed to meet it, if only to pretend for a minute that the other wasn't in as much, if not more, control than he was. But it lasted only a moment before Oz looked away stubbornly, anxious that his thoughts may leak into his expression.

Break cleared his throat, but straightened up as Sharon nudged him threateningly with the edge of her fan.

She spoke up just as an idea formed in Oz's head, "Would you two like to stay for tea?"

He had removed his hand from the tangles of Gil's hair by now so he was once again standing and facing the rest of them in slight modesty. Oz turned his gaze from Sharon to Gil to judge his response, and it was obvious by the way he fingered the hem of his shirt and scrutinized his appearance that he'd much rather retire to bathe rather than impose on Sharon any longer for tea. And anyway, "Actually, Sharon, we need to make a stop before returning home. And, well," he scratched the back of his head meekly, "I didn't exactly tell Alice I was leaving this morning, heh..."

He avoided Sharon's eyes for some reason. Probably due to the guilt of _other_ things he hadn't told Alice yet in addition to ditching her today.

"So it's probably best if we just..." he trailed off.

She smiled at them both, with a knowing glint in her eyes as they passed over Oz. "It was nice of you to stop by, Oz. And I'll be seeing you soon, Gilbert."

Oz inwardly frowned a little when he noticed Gilbert's kind smile aimed toward Sharon before he bowed his head, "Thank you as always, Miss Sharon."

For some odd reason, probably because he had never seen that smile directed toward anyone other than himself before, he almost thought it belonged to him. As ridiculous as it was to think he owned Gil in any way... well...

Before he could gather the sense to feel embarrassed, he grabbed Gil's wrist and dragged him from the currently dazed Sharon and positively bored Break. It took another few minutes before they finally made it out of the mansion and Oz gratefully accepted the crisp, fresh air in a deep breath before further directing his servant into his carriage ahead of him. Before he stepped in as well, much to Gil's confusion, he leaned on the handle and poked his head up to the front of the carriage where his driver was sitting, telling him directions quietly enough so that the raven wouldn't overhear. Then he propelled himself into the car and plopped down on the plush velvet bench opposite his companion.

He sighed, relaxing into the bumps and folds of the material, and shut his eyes. The truth was, he was unsure of how to proceed with talking to Gil now. Feigning exhaustion was always a good choice in these situations.

But then a thought occurred to him... speaking of carriages...

He popped an eye open and almost lost his nerve when he noticed those gold eyes quickly dart away from himself. Feeling his cheeks warm a bit, he pretended he didn't notice. "Hey, Gil," he said. When he was sure he had the raven's attention (although it seemed he had it earlier anyway), he went on to inquire, "You didn't walk here, did you?"

There was no carriage when he arrived and considering Gil's past careless tendencies when he was upset, it was rather easy to assume he might have forgone it today. But he hoped not. Did he not understand how much danger he was in if one of the Nightrays were to come across him, separated and vulnerable, traveling between the Rainsworth and Vessalius mansions? Perhaps he simply did not _care_ for his own safety at times of emotional turmoil if it meant otherwise inconveniencing someone else_._ But was Oz not the same in that regard? Nonetheless, sometimes Oz felt like locking him in a tall brick tower with only slits for windows and bars on the door. Maybe then he would have enough time to gather his bearings and perhaps _fix_ things before they escalated to something irreversible. This _was_ his fault, he reminded himself. He supposed he was lucky that the raven didn't flee for good.

And, as expected, Gil looked distraught (more so than usual), almost as if he were considering lying as he worked out a response.

"Gil..." he said flatly and narrowed his eyes a little. His own relief over Gil not abandoning him kept him from feeling truly cross, though.

"I… didn't really even think about it. I didn't want to, well, trouble anyone any more than I had already..." His eyes flickered up to meet his as he trailed off, leaving no doubt in Oz's mind of what 'trouble' he was referring to. Oz's eyes suddenly flickered to the moving landscape outside.

Oz didn't say anything more since he felt like he had adequately expressed his displeasure without placing too much pressure on Gil, especially because it was mostly his own fault. The raven spoke instead.

"If it makes any difference, master, Sharon scolded me as soon as I got there," he said, looking torn between a small smile and a self-deprecating grimace, obviously unsure of how Oz would react to this.

Oz, against his own will, just grunted. Hearing Gil speak of Sharon was definitely unpleasant. And she saw him _every day_...

He leaned his chin on his palm propped up against the windowsill, frowning.

For some reason, that did not sit well. It did not sit well at all. He was reminded of the moment just earlier, of Gil's smile, and Sharon's confession: "_It's a shame really... that he's taken."_

His eyes strayed over to his servant once again from beneath his fringe, his blond eyelashes practically resting on his cheeks as he did so. At least, this time, Oz didn't catch Gil studying him. Instead, Gil's eyes looked wistfully out the window, his delicate gloved hands resting on the seat on either side of his knees. His expression was almost melancholic, but arguably neutral. His slightly soiled hair tickled his cheeks in its usual black curls. In the sunlight, his skin was like porcelain, and his mouth...

"She fancies you, you know," he blurted out and felt his nerves catch fire.

Gil blinked out of his reverie and looked over at him in surprised confusion, "What?"

Oz redirected his gaze out the window again, as if disinterested in how this affected the raven. Although it was quite the opposite. "Sharon, she fancies you."

The raven's eyes widened for just a moment, but then he relaxed into thought. "She couldn't..."

"Haven't you noticed?" he asked. He didn't know where he was going with this, _if_ he was even going anywhere with this, why he was asking, why he was feeling nauseous as he did so, why Gil's reaction was so important to him. Plus, was he really so oblivious that he wouldn't notice Sharon's constant attention on him?

"I... no. Not really," he said after a moment. Oz was not excited about the slight flush on his cheeks. "Um... why, is it a problem?"

Now it was his turn to be abashed. A problem?

"What?" Oz deadpanned.

"You seem angry."

The noble looked over now, completely taken aback by the assessment, as if he hadn't noticed his anger himself. Why did everything _about _Gil anger him so much, when he could never actually be angry at the young man himself?

"No, I suppose not. Why, is it a problem to you?" Oz studied his hands.

Gil's tone was laced with honest confusion.

"Not... not really. But... master, are you sure you aren't... cross?"

"No," he said quickly. He wasn't angry nor cross, per se, a bit peeved and awfully confused, maybe...

Gil looked at him, worried and hurt, and he had to re-assess the question.

"Ah, I mean, yes, I'm not angry," he said, feeling a little thick for not paying closer attention. He felt like he was on edge, walking on eggshells.

"Well, um..."

Oz was intrigued as Gil's demeanor changed, and watched with great interest as the other pushed forward off the bench and landed forward on one knee in the limited space between them. If he were any closer, their knees would be touching. The raven bowed his head down low for the second time today.

"Master, I want to... apologize for last night. It was uncalled for. I-I… am probably just a bit sleep deprived is all. I'll take whatever punishment you see fit, even if you want to... send me away."

The noble blinked downward, his head clear for once, and smiled. Did Gil really think he'd send him away? Probably, if that grimace on his face was any indication. The part about sleep deprivation gave him some cause for concern. Was that really all it was? But anyway...

Oz tightened and loosened his hold on the bench, contemplating his next move.

"_It's okay to not know how you feel, Oz."_

Sharon's voice kept echoing in his head. She'd told him that he should act on how he felt in the moment, rather than try to think every action through, hadn't she? The carriage lurching gave him an excuse to do just that. His palms slid over velvet and his body lurched forward with inertia and he grabbed onto Gil's shoulders, pulling him upright. Before Gil could react, Oz wrapped his arms around his upper torso and held him close. The hug was a little awkward, since the raven was under the impression that it was an accident. Not to mention his arms were trapped by his sides. Oz's heart was beating so strongly he shifted backward a quarter of an inch to make sure Gil couldn't feel it. They were so close he could smell the sweat on him; he didn't smell quite as sweet as he did that one time in the hall. Almost metallic; salty, instead.

"M-master? Are you… alright…?"

Leave it to Gil to assume, even twenty seconds later after the initial lurch, that Oz had only embraced him to catch himself. For that, his face burned and instead of doing what he _should,_ which was tighten his hold, he forced himself up and backward, and retreated.

"Master?"

"Y-yeah, sorry, Gil. I'm fine," he said, sitting as far to the edge of the bench beside the window as he could. So the raven now thought he was simply clumsy, that the hug was just an accident, that Oz hadn't just overcome some barrier that he was quickly rebuilding. What was he even doing? Despite the chilled air of the carriage, his whole body felt hot and he willed himself to feign his usual quiet confidence as he tried to calm himself down. From the corner of his eye, he saw Gil push himself up until he was also once again sitting on the bench. He looked positively scandalized and concerned.

Oz sighed, following up on their earlier conversation as an excuse to distract himself from his blunder. "Don't be stupid. I'm not sending you away for having feelings," he said. After he said it, though, he wasn't sure it was the best thing to say. Was he not just facilitating Gil's apparent plan to belittle the happenings of last night? Sleep deprivation, he had said...

"But master, involving you in my personal problems is hardly appropriate, how can I-"

"-call yourself my servant? Don't forget you promised me, Gil. Are you... regretting it?"

He crossed his arms across his chest. He said that lightheartedly, but truth be told, some doubt lingered in his mind.

"No!" he practically yelled. "I mean no," he amended at a more normal volume, obviously embarrassed by his outburst.

Oz studied him thoughtfully for a moment. "You know... uh, last night. Did that... ever happen before with... your old master?" he asked. It wasn't quite the question that lingered on his mind, the one that teased him every second since the night before. The question that Sharon had only strengthened his doubt of. But he could start here.

As expected, Gil looked a bit confused in addition to the shame of being reminded of last night. The noble hoped he wouldn't have to explain himself; if that were the case, he would most likely brush off the delicate subject.

Thankfully, he didn't have to. "Well, I don't quite know what you're referring to, but the trouble sleeping... um, yes. But for a very different reason."

A very different reason. That piqued his curiosity and also frightened him immensely. It wasn't his business. In fact, last night Gil had never told him explicitly just what kept him up at night in such anguish. All he'd really gathered is that Gil was highly jealous of Alice, but the implications of that were still unconfirmed. Sharon seemed sure enough of it though...

But they were both...

The mood of the carriage plummeted into awkwardness again as Gil and Oz both drowned in their respective thoughts. Gil, hating himself for practically admitting his feelings the night before, and Oz, for letting his servant down. Which was why...

The carriage stopped. The noble glanced out the windows, and sure enough they'd stopped where he asked. Feeling stupid for not noticing their whereabouts earlier, he threw himself across the carriage to Gil's side and pulled the curtains shut before doing the same on his own.

"Um, master, is this the stop you mentioned...?" Obviously Gil had already seen his surroundings, which was okay. As long as anyone surrounding them had not seen _him_, at least.

Walking to the door, he said, "Yeah. Stay here, I'll be fine on my own. Don't let anyone see you."

"Wait, let me come with you-"

Oz expected this, but rolled his eyes anyway. "You can't, you're hardly disguised and we're right in the middle of town."

"But-"

The raven stood as if ready to follow anyway, and Oz actually placed a hand on his chest to push him backward toward the bench. "I'll be back soon, just wait. Oh, and lock the door behind me," he instructed before poking him in the nose, "You worry too much, Gil~!" After feeling no further resistance, he let go and stepped out of the carriage, shutting the door definitively behind himself.


	19. Chapter XVII: Reveille

**Raven, Abducted**

**Warning: **abuse including implied rape of a minor, OOC, AU, tons of angst and fluff

**A/N:** As always, thank you to everyone who enjoys this fic and everyone who has sent me kind words about it!

* * *

**Chapter XVII: Reveille**

* * *

Gilbert sat on the edge of the velvet bench of the carriage, as if ready to exit at any moment. His leg bounced as he fidgeted impatiently, lifting and dropping his heel on the wooden floor. Did Oz really think he could just sit here in the dark while he ventured outside to do his business, alone and unguarded? Not to mention that he was... well, he was acting odd. But he assumed it was only to be expected after his slip-up last night. Gilbert winced, ceasing his movements, instead clenching his teeth as he stared at the slight gap between the curtain and the edge of the window. No, he decided he wouldn't think about that anymore! At the least, he could hope that Oz would dismiss the entire incident. Although it pained him, he had already made his resolve to handle these feelings on his own. He'd endured before, he'd endure this as well. But presently... he still felt useless and it was almost aggravating how little things have seemed to change overall since he had first become Oz's servant. What was his training for, if it wasn't to protect his master? And it was even more relevant now that he knew he wasn't being discarded for his selfishness. But he let Oz down. And Alice, too, even if she didn't know it (yet).

Then, well, it was obvious why he brought up Sharon and her apparent... feelings for him. The thought made his pulse pick up; romance was never something that ever occurred to him, before... He ran his fingers through his now dry but slightly soiled hair and ignored his throbbing chest. But to bring her up so soon after making Oz aware of his feelings, it made him feel ill. Was this Oz's way of rejecting him? It was unnecessary to try to steer his heart in any other direction, mostly because he felt with distressing certainty that it would never work. Even if it'd be convenient, even preferable, if he didn't have to feel like _this_. And partially because he'd never let feelings of those sort interfere with his resolve to be a servant. Because he was convinced his feelings were unconditional, and even if they were to one day mercifully settle into something platonic, there would never be anyone who could replace Oz.

Maybe it was that thought, reminding him of his role, that made him act against his master's wishes and exit the carriage. The carriage shook a little when he stepped from the ledge onto the road, and the driver, who was leaning against the side of it with a cigarette in his mouth, acknowledged him with a simple nod. At least Oz hadn't told him to keep him under lockdown or anything. It was a little strange to be out in such a crowded city after being stuck inside for days, even weeks now, and a little disconcerting. He felt exposed. From inside the carriage, it felt harmless to wander outside for a minute. Surely he would be just another face in the bustling crowd. But now, he felt vulnerable, and not without reason. It felt like he was being stared at, but a quick glance around didn't turn up any leads. The people passing by him didn't spare him a glance and went about their daily deeds. Nonetheless, he didn't retreat to the confines of the carriage because it was probably just meaningless paranoia.

Across the street was the shop he'd first gone into with Oz, where he bought Gilbert the trenchcoat he wore and would always cherish. At least, until forced to buy a new one (he would need to ask to have this one duplicated). It was perplexing why Oz would have business there; if he wanted a gift for Alice, this wasn't the place. But he had definitely disappeared into this store. So, ducking his head a little, he made his way toward it, attempting with all his might to blend in, but somehow knowing he stood out quite readily. His hair color, while common elsewhere, was uncommon in this area, and his clothes were a bit too high class for most of the locals humming about. He inwardly grimaced; perhaps he should've heeded Oz's command.

He finally made it up to the crooked wooden door, feeling more exposed than ever on the creaky old wooden steps leading up to it. He stopped. As a servant, was it customary to knock, or should he walk in? Despite the rather shoddy, although somehow aesthetically pleasing, facade of the storefront, the clothing inside was rather expensive and high class. Feeling out of place, he decided to knock quietly but then opened the door. Oz was standing at the counter at the front and when he heard the bell above the door, he whipped his head around, saw him, then frowned, obviously displeased. The store owner wasn't around; Gilbert figured he was in the back of the store.

"I told you to stay in the carriage, Gil," Oz said quietly, his voice leaking with annoyance.

Out of habit, the raven smiled sheepishly. It really was out of character to be insubordinate. In fact, if this were Master Nightray, he'd be promised a beating right about now. When did he get so spoiled? But it didn't matter, it was improper for Oz to move about on his own. Even if he were used to it.

So his smile faded as he walked in to take his place a few steps behind him. "I'm here as your _servant,_ master," he said, sighing a bit.

Oz looked surprised and Gilbert had to swallow down his apology. First he ignored his master's order, now he was denying any fault. But it felt necessary. He tried to convey this in his expression. But, unexpectedly, the noble looked apologetic instead and responded with that slightly meek half-smile that made his stomach flip.

"Of course you're my servant, Gil," he said before trailing off, "I'm just... ah..."

The raven's heart soared because even though the blond hadn't explicitly stated his reasoning, it was obvious he was only trying to protect him. Regardless of whether he deserved it or not. It was baffling that he still wanted to after his actions lately. But, well, he'd trained Gilbert to see him as... almost maybe… _possibly_… a friend. And not just a master. Calling him "Oz" was on the tip of his tongue, but he managed to hold back. In his head, it sounded regal, it held the high regard he felt for him. But in his mouth, it fell short; it didn't seem as though his tongue were capable of conveying the same addressment. If Oz could somehow know just how he felt, the respect and gratitude and care he felt toward him, then maybe he wouldn't feel so guilty about calling him "Oz."

As soon as the blond saw Gil's smile, the noble's thoughts of finishing that sentence were banished and he quickly turned forward toward the counter to hide his embarrassment. Sometimes, like now, when Gilbert could suppress his internal monologue for a moment and view the situation from an outsider's perspective, it became easy to discern the meaning behind his master's actions. He could tell a genuine smile from fake, embarrassment from feigned confidence. But these times were rare and far between. He was far too biased, too hopeless, to truly read him. But even though Oz was imperfect, those imperfections made him _real_ and made his heart ache with want. Because that dusting of red on his face was perfect in its imperfection and Gilbert had to cover his face with his hand, hide for a moment while he caught his bearings. This... _gah, Oz, this _hurts_._

In that moment, the shopkeeper reappeared from the storage area in the back of the small shop with... Gilbert froze.

"M-m- what?" he stuttered, almost forgetting not to blow their cover. As far as he knew, the shopkeeper still believed he was Oz's master rather than the inverse.

Oz grinned that rare grin and hopped his way over to the shopkeeper, took the black hat in his hands, and plopped it heavily onto the stunned servant. It was the same one from before, the one Oz couldn't afford. So this side trip... was for him?

Before he could stop them, tears gathered in his eyes. Tears of gratitude, love, but also self-loathing. Why...? He lifted his hand to pull the brim of his hat down to block Oz's searching gaze. But the blond ducked, obviously intent on finding out his reaction with alarming hope, so he had to turn around. He resisted the urge to wipe his sleeve over his eyes,.

"Uh... Master?" Oz said, sounding slightly less hopeful than before. Gilbert wanted to speak, but was worried a sob might escape instead. So he just stood with his new hat in front of his face, desperately trying not to smile.

"Could you, uh, give us a moment? We'll just be in the back..." Oz asked the shopkeeper,.

"Um, sure," the shopkeeper replied in his gruff voice, bewilderment obvious in his tone. Really, how obvious were they when Oz grabbed his wrist and led him to the back room where he last tried on coats? Gilbert hoped the shopkeeper wasn't too bright...

He finally managed to grab a hold of his voice now that they were alone behind the curtain of the cramped space of the dressing room, "Master... why would you...?"

He swallowed; that was all he could force out.

"What, you don't like it? I thought-"

"No! That's not it, I love it, but-"

"Then that's why," he said, and Gilbert couldn't resist from peeking out from under the brim to catch that blinding grin.

"Wha-?"

"You liked it," he said, then snorted, "Are you crying?" he used a finger to push the brim up further and Gilbert quickly rubbed his eyes on his sleeve as he did so to hide his tears. Oz chuckled before continuing, "As my personal servant, I figured I could be nice for once. And well... I thought maybe it'd sort of make up for not spending enough time with you-"

"Master, wait," he said, the euphoric feeling quickly fading as he caught the gist of his explanation. He held up a gloved hand. "Is this... about last night?"

He let his hand fall and crossed one arm over his chest, averting his eyes.

"What, you think I'm doing this out of guilt?" Oz chuckled a little, in that way that made Gilbert feel especially thick. "Did you even hear the first part?"

"Seriously, master, I don't need anything more from you," he said, before taking off the hat, then shoving it in his chest. Oz took it and rolled his eyes.

"It's not pity or anything. If you'd just listen for a minute," he said calmly, if not a little amused, and plopped the hat back on the reluctant raven's head. "You would have heard that you are my _personal servant._ Psh, idiot."

"What?" Gilbert said dumbly, not sure if he heard right.

Oz sighed, placing his hands on his hips. "Don't look so surprised. It's not like you weren't practically so anyway. Besides, you called me Oz. Don't you remember our agreement?"

Gilbert could only stare. He remembered the agreement, but he'd only called him Oz by accident, and once as far as he could remember. Since then, he'd been calling him "master," not even "master Oz."

He must've been quiet too long.

"If you don't want to..." the blond said, turning around in the small space.

"A-are you joking?" He had to make sure.

Oz frowned at him over his shoulder before turning away again. Hiding. Guarded.

"I'm _not_ joking. I thought you would be more excited-"

He cut off because Gilbert couldn't help himself from leaning forward and letting his forehead rest just below the nape of his master's neck, holding his new hat to his heart. This was overwhelming. If this was Oz's way of caring for him, he could be happy like this. To just be by his side. Always.

"Thank you, Oz," he whispered, his voice just barely audible.

The sound of voices caught their attention, and Gilbert lifted his head as Oz took a cautious stance. He sent a piercing look over his shoulder, a finger to his lips. The raven nodded, concerned himself, and stayed quiet while Oz tentatively moved to peer around the curtain of the room they were in.

"I'll be right back," he said, and darted out of the curtain, closing it behind him before Gilbert could even react. Why was he always trying to protect _him_?

Before he could peek his own head out the curtain, the noble darted back in and grabbed his hand, motioning again for him to stay silent. Alarmed, Gilbert let himself be pulled out of the room to a corner of the room covered in boxes. Carefully, they slipped through the narrow opening between them and down a couple concrete stairs. He could see a tiny sliver of light coming from under the door, and a draft alerted him to the outside. Oz paused for a moment, listening, and he watched him, waiting. He didn't know what was going on, but whatever it was it was enough to rattle Oz.

"_Shit,_ come on, Gil," he whispered in earnest.

He responded instinctively and grasped the blond's hand tightly in his own before wrenching open the old door with all the force he could muster and ran, pulling Oz behind him, the other hand holding his new hat firmly atop his head. The streets were still lined with people, so in order not to draw more attention than he already had, he slowed his pace and began weaving in and out of the crowd. Whoever was at the shop was most likely after him. Would the shopkeeper talk? They _were _rather (shamefully) suspicious.

His body moved on autopilot for the next several minutes, dragging Oz behind him as he made a large circle of about a two block radius. Oz didn't say anything, but Gilbert could tell by the way his hand tightened and his pace slowed a bit that he was quickly tiring. They were almost back to the carriage at this point. Hopefully they could slip away unnoticed, if only they could reach it inconspicuously.

"Gil, wait," Oz wheezed behind him a minute later, grabbing his coat to steady himself with his other hand. They were in a quieter junction between an empty alleyway and the still bustling main shopping street. Gilbert stopped, noticing he was barely out of breath.

"Jeez, what kind of training are you _doing_?" the noble asked after half a minute, having finally caught his breath.

"Sorry," he said reflexively, meaning to tip the brim of his hat downward, but remembered his dominant hand was occupied. He jerked his gaze up from their clasped hands in case Oz noticed its direction, but he didn't; he was too busy peering down the street toward the carriage.

"It doesn't seem like anyone's hanging around the store anymore, but I don't know if they've left yet or not."

"Who was it?" Gilbert asked finally.

Oz brushed his sleeve over his slightly dampened forehead and Gilbert had to look away. "The police," he said.

"What... you mean...?"

"Yeah. I heard them ask about you and I bolted. Hm, maybe I should've stayed to listen longer. But anyway, it seems your old master isn't quite ready to let you go yet. What the hell kinds of things are the Nightrays into that you know so much about?"

"It's... not the Nightrays, exactly," he clarified, a bit on guard. And defensive, if only for Elliot's sake. The rest of the Nightrays never treated him especially poorly, so he felt he owed them at least this correction.

"Then, you mean your old master is single-handedly behind this? A search squad? This is bad, Gil," he said seriously. Then he let go of his hand, leaving it barren and cold due to the thin layer of sweat, despite the glove. It didn't seem to have the same effect on Oz...

"Y-yeah, uh, maybe we should try to sneak back into the carriage sooner rather than later. They might have others about the streets. But..." he paused, his expression almost pleading, "if you go alone, there's a higher chance they won't notice you. And if they do stop you, you could always argue you went into the store alone..."

Oz sent him a sharp look that instantly quieted any further plans of that nature. "Don't be stupid, Gil, are you seriously considering having me leave you here to get caught and thrown back into the Nightray mansion? You know they'll just forgo any court case. Let's go."

Gilbert wanted to argue he wasn't worth the concern, that his blunder may cause unnecessary trouble for the Vessalius family, but Oz's tone was serious and left no room for argument. In fact, he'd never heard him speak with such a clipped tone. He almost sounded... hurt. It gave Gilbert pause and he gritted his teeth, but he followed silently when the blond turned from a few feet ahead to make sure he was following.

"Just stay behind me," Oz whispered, "Maybe back a couple feet, so it doesn't look like we're walking together. But if something happens-"

"-I'll yell," he finished, if only to wipe that expression off Oz''s face. Disappointment, distress, and other misplaced feelings he didn't deserve. Despite his claim to yell if something happened along the way, Oz faltered for a moment to grab his hand anyway. If this situation weren't so dire, he'd probably have trouble suppressing a smile. But if they failed and were seen, especially together, this wouldn't last. In fact, even seeing Oz again might be impossible...

So he shook the blond's hand off and stepped back because the world didn't revolve around his feelings for the noble, but it most certainly would shatter if something were to happen to him.


	20. Chapter XVIII: Enough

**Raven, Abducted**

**Warning: **abuse including implied rape of a minor, OOC, AU, tons of angst and fluff

**A/N:** I'm just going to assume they speak English (although it may be French or some made up language), yes shh okay-

* * *

"Just stay behind me," Oz whispered, "Maybe back a couple feet, so it doesn't look like we're walking together. But if something happens-"

"-I'll yell," he finished, if only to wipe that expression off Oz''s face. Disappointment, distress, and other misplaced feelings he didn't deserve. Despite his claim to yell if something happened along the way, Oz faltered for a moment to grab his hand anyway. If this situation weren't so dire, he'd probably have trouble suppressing a smile. But if they failed and were seen, especially together, this wouldn't last. In fact, even seeing Oz again might be impossible...

So he shook the blond's hand off and stepped back because the world didn't revolve around his feelings for the noble, but it most certainly would shatter if something were to happen to him.

* * *

**Chapter XVIII: Enough**

* * *

Keeping his head down, he missed his master's inquisitive expression, but the two weaved through the crowd anyway. They had to walk around stalls, though, and each time they did Gilbert fell a little behind.

"Hey, sir!"

"You look like you could use-"

"Sir, sir! These rare-"

He dodged the shouts of the stall owners, desperately trying to keep up with Oz, who was at least six feet ahead now. At one point, he had to shoulder someone out of his way and ignore his offended "hey!" His legs were burning now, his calves tight from training and walking so briskly. He never thought he'd ever be running from the police!

And it's not like... he told anyone...

But sometimes, he felt like he should...

They finally made it to the carriage and he saw Oz look around frantically before he came pushing out of the crowd. The blond grabbed his sleeve and hauled him behind the backmost corner from the shop, behind the wheel. Together, they panted, both still on high alert. The driver was on the other side and Gilbert didn't have the key to unlock the door from this side. Still running on adrenaline, Gilbert dashed from one wheel to the other, hiding with his back to the carriage. If anyone were paying attention, they'd be able to see his legs, but the chances of that were low enough.

"Gil!" Oz whispered, obviously unappreciative of his risky move. His nose wrinkled in irritation and Gilbert sent him a reassuring glance.

It was much too loud to hear a full sentence, so he signaled his next move. He pointed from Oz to the ledge under the door. From there, no one could see his legs, especially since he had the sense to close the curtains before they left. He nodded and crouched before leaping up the few feet to the ledge. It was shallow and he wobbled a little, but managed to catch his balance with the locked handle of the door. The raven waited for a nod signaling he was okay before trying to draw the driver's attention.

He quickly glanced around the corner to scope out the storefront and felt a chill, like ice cold water trickling down his spine. _They were coming out!_ If only the back door of the carriage weren't locked...

The worst part was, if the police had any sense, they would look for a potential get-away vehicle, most likely the vehicle they came in. They had been in the shop a long time, though; it had been almost twenty five minutes since they first ran from the back, judging from the clock tower at the head of the town square. Did the shopkeeper really have that much information, or did they have so little to go on that they milked him for all he was worth? He hoped for the latter, at the unfortunate expense of the shopkeeper, who had no part in any of this.

As the three of them walked down the steps leading to the shop's door, he noticed them make a turn down the street. He had time. They were eyeing another carriage parked farther down the sidewalk; they hadn't even glanced across the street. Letting out a breath, he quickly called out to the driver, "Sir!"

This wasn't the same person who drove him to and from the Rainsworth mansion, so he didn't know his name. When he got no reply he turned back to Oz, a question in his expression.

"Samuel!" he whispered from the door. Gilbert had to squint and read his lips, then turned and yelled his name. The driver perked up and they felt the carriage's weight shift a little as he stopped leaning against it. Oz tightened his hold on the handle, a bit disgruntled.

"Back here!"

The sandy haired man whipped his head around and dropped his cigarette to the ground, stomping it out, before finally giving Gilbert his attention. Gilbert resisted the urge to roll his eyes; couldn't he tell this was a dangerous situation? Well, no, probably not; what he was feeling was paranoia, mostly. No one around here had any clue of a police chase, except those involved.

"We need you to unlock the door from this side," he said, as patiently as he could request. The driver grunted and slowly made his way around the carriage, and Gilbert tucked himself against the backside again. Samuel looked concerned when he saw Oz carefully perched on the edge of the door, and something must've clicked because he looked around suspiciously and moved much quicker to unlock it.

"Young master-"

"Don't worry about it! Gil, get in! Just take us home, but don't take a completely obvious way," he instructed as he pulled the servant up and into the car.

The man nodded and shut the door behind them (which Oz locked immediately), before presumably taking his seat at the front. Once they started moving, they both let out a breath they didn't know they were holding. Gilbert sighed, finally content to relax, as the noble laughed and spread out across the bench.

"I thought I was going to have a heart attack," he laughed, "I can't believe your stamina. It hasn't even been that long since I had to practically carry you down the hallway."

The raven frowned but smirked shyly, "I believe my _concussion_ had something to do with that, master," he reminded, "It looks like I'll be carrying _you_ from now on."

Oz pouted playfully.

"But seriously, does Break make you run drills or what? And you don't even sleep that much, you go to sleep after me every night..."

Not to mention, back then Gilbert was significantly malnourished and under-exercised. Now, even though he ate little, the food was much more fulfilling and nutritionally dense. He still remembered his first real meal at the Vessalius mansion, a meal of steak and potatoes, even though the blond had apologized for the simplicity of it. But it was better than anything he could remember eating; often he ate cold leftovers from an earlier meal or stale bread from the day before. Oz didn't know that though. In fact, there was little he knew about his old life. Gilbert didn't think he could handle the pity if he told him. It wasn't that big of a deal, anyway. Not anymore. Because Oz knowing _him_ was more important than the happenings of his previous life.

"Maybe I'm getting old," Oz joked and Gilbert exhaled an amused breath.

"Seventeen is hardly old, master."

The blond looked thoughtful. "How old are you exactly, anyway, Gil?"

Huh. It was true, they'd never spoken of his age.

"Seventeen... I think." The "I think" slipped out before he could help it.

Oz's eyes widened. "You think? You mean you don't_ know?_"

He supposed there was no harm in telling Oz a little about his past. In fact, he _liked_ telling him what he could. The problem instead lied in Oz, that perhaps he wouldn't react well to some of the more dire points of his life. But a lingering feeling of insecurity sat in his gut; it was possible there were some events Oz was better off not knowing about, a fear that... perhaps... Oz wouldn't...

"My master – I mean my old master -" he quickly corrected himself at Oz's sharp look, "He found me when I was little and estimated my age to be about three. I don't remember anything before that. He told me my birthday was the day he found me..."

"Where did he find you?"

This conversation was beginning to breach territory he wasn't ready for Oz to know yet. But he was so dissociated from this information that it seemed harmless...

"A-ah, he was investigating a crime and happened to pick me up..."

"So you don't know who your parents are?"

The raven's breathing started to pick up, he was growing uncomfortable with the choice of conversation. Not because the topic affected him, but he couldn't say the same for Oz. But he could hardly choose not to answer him.

"Were," he quietly corrected, "They were killed, but it doesn't matter, I can't remember them anyway..."

The blond chewed on his lip, but didn't offer any condolences. For that, he was grateful. They didn't mean anything; they were just useless words meant to fill in awkward silence, they weren't real. This was why he was so fascinated with Oz in the first place.

Distractedly, Oz muttered with a furrowed brow, "But your English is so good..."

"Gil," he then said cautiously with barely a pause inbetween, "Do you realize your supposed 'birthday' is on the same day your parents were killed?"

Gil faltered, surprised as always at how perceptive Oz was, not to mention how blunt.

"I-I guess, it doesn't really bother me, it's not like I celebrate it or anything..."

Oz stared at him, but seemed slightly caught in his own thoughts.

"We could change it," he suggested quietly.

Gilbert appreciated the sentiment, but, "That's not necessary..."

Oz's gaze flickered away from him for a moment.

"So are you _older_ than me? My birthday's in December... Gil, this won't do!" he said dramatically, eyes glittering in indignation.

Gil was lost. His age didn't matter only minutes ago; Oz's dominant personality was exasperating as always.

He sighed, "Well no, it's February 5th," he answered shyly.

His master reacted as expected, a sputtering "What?!" and "That was only a few weeks ago! Why didn't you say anything?"

"It's not... important..."

Oz pouted and crossed his arms over his chest. "Of course it's important," he grumbled and Gilbert's lips upturned into a small smile, before the conversation seemed to fall into a comfortable silence.

The blond then busied himself by shrugging out of his overcoat. Though it was plenty cold outside, Gilbert felt like his clothes were clinging to him as well, but he ignored it. He felt that now was a good time to bring up his concern.

"Um... master?"

Oz paused with one sleeve off and looked up.

"_Oz,_ Gil. Honestly..." he corrected, but smiled softly. They both knew that when it counted, Gilbert had already called him as such. He pulled his remaining arm out of the sleeve of his coat.

Gilbert fidgeted with the front of his jacket.

"What should we do now?"

"You mean now that the city's police force is after you? And that's only as far as we know. What did your old master even do anyway?"

The raven's eyes widened briefly; would Oz be angry he didn't tell him this earlier...? But most people knew, right? It was odd that he didn't already know, but his ignorance was probably attributed to the longstanding tension between the two houses.

"Uh... he's a detective..." he said, his voice small. The truth was that his old master in fact held a lot of influence over the entire police force, but saying so at this moment seemed like a death wish.

"A detective?!" Gilbert cringed at his incredulous tone, "_What,_ you never told me that! A detective! Just what we need. Agh, I can't believe I even ever let you leave the estate."

The blond dropped his head into his hands.

"I didn't want you to worry..." he tried weakly.

"But you know I-"

_Would_? He longed to hear it, but Oz's mouth shut tight and he dropped his hands as he glanced away. He wasn't ready to voice it yet, Gilbert supposed.

"Whatever, we'll figure it out later," he said instead, sounding exhausted in more ways than one. Rearranging his hand, he rested his chin on his palm. His fingers curled and pressed into his cheek as he chewed his lip, as if in deep thought. In rare moments like these, with his mask down, Gilbert found it impossible to look away. And now, well, as of earlier this sight would be one he'd get to experience often. He imagined, though, that Alice would be on his right. Her dress, blue and black (that dress burned itself into his memory from the first time they'd met), would tumble over the red velvet of the bench. Wearing a ring that she'd twirl lovingly between her fingers. Maybe they'd be holding hands, conversing, or bickering. They'd share a secret smile, one that conveyed thousands of thoughts and promises that a conversation could never quite hold. It was almost okay. But then they'd kiss and his stomach would knot itself and imagining it now, it felt far from okay. And where would he be? Maybe he'd opt in to learn how to drive just to escape the carriage.

Emerald eyes blinked lazily, then met his as if he'd expected to find the raven studying him. Unexpectedly, his own eyes didn't stray and their gazes locked as they assessed each other. Gilbert couldn't hear anything other than the blood rushing in his ears. In that moment, it almost felt like Oz were penetrating his mind, an omniscient presence that could read his every thought. And oddly, he wasn't entirely opposed to it. But then...

…his stomach growled. Eyes widening, he could feel himself turning red as the corners of Oz's mouth upturned slowly into a teasing grin. Reality, as imposing and overbearing as always, weighed in and broke the moment, and Gilbert turned away, unable to meet that stare again. But strangely, even in this prime moment of vulnerability, the blond didn't comment. He seemed distracted. What he would give to read his master's thoughts for even a second.

* * *

"And where have _you two _been?"

Unfortunately, Mrs. Kate was the first one to greet them at the door as Gilbert hung the blond's coat on the rack by the entranceway. Gilbert cringed, but Oz seemed unaffected as he regarded her. It was apparent that he valued his independence.

She looked affronted when Oz merely greeted her with his usual "Good afternoon, Mrs. Kate," though it lacked its usual enthusiasm. Gilbert figured he should try to remedy the situation.

"I assure you, Mrs. Kate, that the young master has been with me all day-"

"Oh, I should've known. What, did you come back in the same carriage? Are you incapable of even transporting _yourself_ to and from the Rainsworth household? Wasn't that the agreement?"

Offended, and crushed, he opened his mouth to defend himself, but Oz beat him to it.

"_That_ was unnecessary, Mrs. Kate," he said icily, "Where I go, why I go, and with _whom_ I go is none of your business. Gil is more than enough of an escort."

Gil paled; who knew his master would be so quick to come to his defense?

"Young master, I merely think-" she tried, looking much less confident than she did a moment earlier.

"I don't know_ what _you have against him when it was _you_ who-" the blond abruptly cut off and glanced at Gilbert. Whatever he was going to say, he must've changed his mind realizing he was there. What did Mrs. Kate say about him? He stared wildly between the two, desperately hoping to put an end to the argument that was really his battle to face.

"Anyway-"

"Wait, master," he interrupted quietly, holding a hand up to signal him to stop. If this were a month ago, even two weeks ago, he could stand back and let his master defend him. But now... Well, he was offended, but he also understood. Oz didn't have steady parental figures growing up; according to Sharon, he was raised by a combination of his uncle and his servants. Maybe the noble didn't see Mrs. Kate's concerns for what they were, which was a desire to protect based on loyalty, maybe even love, and not just duty. He was lucky. So Gilbert at least owed her this in return.

"Gil, you don't have to put up with this," Oz said, furrowing a brow. But he relented, anger sidestepping to make room for confusion.

Gilbert smiled at him, "I know."

Stepping forward so he was in plane with Oz and facing Mrs. Kate, he placed one palm over his heart and bowed slightly in her direction.

"I assure you that I can protect the young master. Today, he made me his personal servant, and I will fulfill that role until he chooses to dismiss me. I apologize if I have given you reason to doubt me," he said, his chest swelling with a surge of pride at the words 'personal servant.' Some doubt still lingered in his mind, though, and he half-expected Oz to correct him as if he did no such thing. Mrs. Kate was looking sufficiently guilty now, but that wasn't his intention. Between his testimony and Oz's, she was cornered. Oz looked thoroughly bored as she stammered out an apology.

"I-I apologize, young master... and Gilbert. That was rude of me."

"Yes, well, anyway," his master said flippantly and slightly impatiently, "Where is Alice?"

He peered around the entranceway as if she'd suddenly materialize. Now it was Gilbert's turn to feel guilty; if he hadn't overstayed his training at the Rainsworth's or made his master make a stop for this hat, then he could've spent more time with his... fiancee. Mentally, he'd already taken a step back. It seemed to help for he no longer felt nauseous at the word "fiancee." Numbness and dissociation seemed like the best strategy.

"Ah, the young lady, yes, she spent the morning in the garden and I believe she is currently in the library," she responded, still a little frazzled.

The blond nodded by way of farewell, obviously still a bit peeved at the rude welcoming. Making his way around her and up a few stairs already, she seemed awakened by a thought.

"Young master, there was... a visitor today, while you were out," she said and he paused in his ascent. Gilbert stood a few paces behind him at the bottom of the landing, studying his body language. He seemed stiff. It would make sense for him to be anxious to see Alice, though...

"Who was it?" he asked without turning around.

"Your father, young master," she replied, her tone reluctant and cautious.

His hands clenched at his sides briefly, as if he'd expected such an answer. Gilbert was aware, thanks to Sharon, that Oz's father was alive and well, but the details of their relationship were unknown to him. It looked strained. Not at all the warmth he exuded at the mention of his uncle.

"I see."

His tone was carefully blank and reminded Gilbert so much of the noble when they'd only just met. It made his blood run cold.

"Did he say what for?"

"He heard rumors of Alice's arrival. He wasn't pleased about not having been informed."

"It's none of his business if Alice decides to visit," Oz said coolly. This was obviously a highly sensitive topic considering Mrs. Kate's total change in demeanor. "Did he speak with her?"

"Yes, but he refused tea and only stayed for about twenty minutes or... so..." she trailed off because the noble began to ascend the stairs again, shrugging her off. Feeling obligated, in his master's stead, Gilbert bowed slightly in apology for his behavior, but Mrs. Kate just nodded and waved him off. It seemed unnecessary; she was probably familiar with this reaction. They shared a small ironic smile of understanding, before Gilbert quickly climbed the stairs to catch up to Oz.


	21. Chapter XIX: Conspicuous

**Raven, Abducted**

**Warning: **abuse including implied rape of a minor, OOC, AU, tons of angst and fluff

**A/N:** Sorry it's been a while (and embarrassingly right after I got reviews mentioning my quick updates)! Thank you for following and reviewing and such nnnsnugglesyou-

* * *

**Chapter XIX: Conspicuous**

* * *

Oz trudged up the stairs toward the library, his mind elsewhere entirely. His first instinct wasn't to find Alice, though; he needed some space to breathe. Why did this still affect him so much? Every time he thought he'd moved on from this...

It was just like his father to show up unannounced, not to see _him_, but for business. He treated this wedding like a business transaction between the Vessalius' and the Baskervilles. He was just here to make sure his transaction completed itself. How dare he even _speak_ to Alice?

And then...

What if he were to break that transaction, so to speak?

"_You're marrying Alice... but you don't want to."_

What even gave Sharon that impression? ...Was it Gil? Or his complete lack of will to plan the wedding?

"_Thank you, Oz."_

He felt his cheeks heat up; he could almost still feel the weight of Gil's forehead on his upper back just beneath the edge of his collar. It was frustrating, why did his head have to be filled with all these words that weren't his?

Having not even noticed that he had paused in his trek to the library, he jumped in surprise when he felt a hand on his shoulder. The hand quickly retracted when he did so.

"Um, master, is there... something I can do for you?"

Steeling his expression, Oz turned to face his concerned servant. "Ah! Sorry, Gil. Did you need something?" he replied reflexively. Unsurprisingly, Gil looked skeptical at the cheerful tone.

"I called for you a few times already," he said dully, disappointed by his response. Oz deployed his normally brilliant, impermeable mask and smiled a little, giving a response Gil might deem sufficient.

"I'm just a little tired. We haven't eaten anyway."

Unexpectedly, Gil seemed a bit aggravated when he responded, "Don't do that."

It startled him enough that his mask slipped just a little.

"You don't have to tell me what it is, but don't... don't pretend like that," he said, raising his voice just a little, but then added quietly, "I won't think any less of you, master."

That title again. Oz let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, then leaned up against the wall with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He closed his eyes, lest he reveal more of his emotions than he already had.

"Can't you just call me Oz?"

_Is it the same reason you can barely look me in the eye? Shamed, beaten, trained to think of yourself as little more than the dirt on my shoe._

"Does it really bother you that much?"

_Yes._

But instead, he shrugged, as if it didn't matter to him either way.

It suddenly hit him with surprising force just what sort of life his now personal servant used to have until only a short time ago. His problems didn't seem to compare in the least. And he felt irresponsible. What if that shithead Nightray would threaten violence if he dared disrespect him in that way? It made his blood curdle to think about. But there was still so much he didn't know. It seemed as good a time as any to present an opportunity.

He opened his eyes, avoiding concerned ones in favor of a streak of light on the dense green carpet.

"Uh, Gil, if you ever... you know, want to talk about... before... I'd be willing to listen," he said carefully, his eyes flickering to Gil's to gauge his reaction with feigned disinterest. It was a longshot; Gil hadn't volunteered the information before and this was a blatant request for personal, possibly haunting or humiliating, personal details.

But Gil searched him with those gold eyes he could easily sink into and said, "Okay."

The blond blinked, surprised, unsure of what to say for a moment. But Gil went on.

"I'd be willing to listen to your story as well," he said shyly, with a small smile. Oz had to glance away to quell the burning sensation erupting across his cheekbones.

"I should get to Alice," he blurted out, before realizing that was the worst possible thing he could've said. It was awkward, his timing was awful. They both knew it, but to voice it so thoughtlessly when Gil seemed to finally be opening up to him... To make it worse, the raven _knew_ he felt awkward and thus felt so himself. A bit of guilt etched its way into his features which further fueled Oz's shame at his own stupidity. "I mean..."

"It's _okay, _master. I mean... I'm okay. She's..." Gil trailed off, piquing his interest. Oz wondered if he imagined the way those golden irises dulled despite the light illuminating the hallway.

"She's...?"

"...probably waiting for you, that's all." His voice sounded small and distant as he fidgeted with the edge of his sleeve. Somehow, he didn't think that was what the raven had first intended to say. But he didn't have the guts to ask. "I should go start dinner. Would you like something now?"

"Yeah," Oz replied to the first statement, mindlessly. When he noticed Gil looking at him expectantly, he processed the second question, "I mean no, I'll wait."

The raven smiled and nodded before turning and advancing down the landing. A thought occurred to him as he sobered up from his pathetic, brain-dead state.

"Wait, Gil, don't leave the house!" he yelled. The other turned halfway and nodded and Oz watched him until he descended around the corner on the staircase, embarrassed at the extent of his own concern. Taking out his pocket-watch, he clicked his tongue. Gil had an hour to spare before he normally began preparing dinner. It was funny, really, that as much as he wanted to spend time with Alice, he was sorely tempted to seek out that spot by the window in the kitchen and watch the garden... or more probably a certain servant...

There was no point in denying that he was attached now. But was it worth trusting someone to that degree?

Did he ever really have a choice?

Running a hand through his hair, he realized he had yet to vacate his spot in the middle of the hallway and quickly set off in search of his fiancee.

* * *

Oz awoke abruptly the next morning to a shriek. The door between his room and Gil's room had been left open due to his insatiable paranoia, and immediately his thoughts jumped to the worst case situation. But those (and admittedly, his racing heart) were quickly settled by the second voice he heard.

"Ah, get off! What are you _doing?_"

"Sizing up my competition."

"Competition for _what_?"

"You've been hogging Oz all to yourself lately! And you're not even _that_ cute."

"I-" a pause before the voice decreased in volume to a pleading whisper thick with exasperation, "Hey, you're going to wake him up, you know!"

"It's too late for that," he interjected, delighting in Gil's squeak at his presence at the door.

"M-master, this isn't-"

Gil looked positively distraught and still dazed by the rude awakening, with Alice astride him with her knees on either side of his torso. She had her hands on her hips as she stared down at him. There was really no way to misinterpret the situation, but it was always fun to tease Gil.

Stalking into the room, he feigned offense, narrowing his eyes disapprovingly. "Is Gilbert trying indecent things with my fiancee?"

"I am not!"

Eyeing the two down the bridge of his nose, taking in Gil's scandalized state and the red cheeks and his expression of pure confusion and shame at being called out by his master, and then Alice who crossed her arms across her chest as if this were an everyday occurrence... he snorted, which was quickly followed by bouts of laughter that had him grasping his stomach as his muscles grew fatigued.

Gil scowled, "Will you please get _off_ me, Alice?"

There was a hint of irritation in his tone. Either toward him or the girl in his lap or more than likely both.

"I'm – ha, sorry, Gil, I don't – mean to – laugh at you," he said between bouts of giggles.

Alice huffed. "This is getting boring anyway. I want breakfast!"

"There's nothing stopping you from getting breakfast…" Gil grumbled, sighing.

She jumped up and Gil groaned before rolling over to sitting, obviously sore in the spot she landed on. It reminded Oz of two siblings and it made him miss Ada quite a bit (not that he was ever mean to Ada).

"How did you even get in here, anyway?" Gil asked while rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Oz leaned up against the bedpost, finally sobering but still amused given the situation.

Alice shrugged from where she was perched behind him on the bed, "The guards let me in and your door happened to be open."

"Oh," came the short, sleepy answer.

It seemed he wasn't a morning person.

But then a thought seemed to occur to him and he glanced over at the blond with an unreadable expression that made him slightly uncomfortable. What did he read from Alice's statement...? He had an idea, one that filled him with the irrational need to defend himself, deciding to change the subject instead.

"Well~, since you slept in so much, Gil, you'll just _have_ to eat breakfast with us~," he teased, wandering over to the raven's dresser to find him some clothing.

"Slept in?" he asked blankly before recognition registered on his face. "Ah, wait, I need to go-!"

"No need! I called Break last night and managed to persuade him to start coming here instead."

He pulled out some clothing haphazardly – they were all similar anyway – and dumped the pile onto Gil's lap.

"You what? And wha- hey! Why're you dressing _me_? You're not even dressed!"

"Come on already," Alice huffed, bouncing restlessly on the edge of the bed. "This is boring. Is Sharon coming?"

Oz hummed, "Hm, knowing her... probably."

"What time will they be here?" Gil asked, sorting through the clothing on his lap and laying it across the bed.

"Nine."

As expected, the raven frowned and grumbled, "_Nine_? But he always expects me there at eight."

Definitely not a morning person at all. It was actually a little endearing. He wasn't normally so open with his speech. Oz watched as a poorly stifled yawn slipped out.

"Mm," he agreed, "it is Break after all."

Alice sniffed the air and then beamed, licking her lips and throwing her head back to gaze dreamily at Oz. "Smells like meat today."

Gil wrinkled his nose at her, "There's meat _every_day."

Oz snorted, smiling at the girl with obvious affection, "Alice, give us a chance to dress and we'll meet you there, okay?"

She beamed at him and hopped off the bed with a quick sound of approval and without a word to Gil, bounced out of the room, leaving the two of them alone.

Gil stood up as if on autopilot, registering with some detachment the last presence in the room. His brain felt like mush, like he'd slept much too long. Maybe because it was one of the longest nights of sleep he'd had since he got here. At least, since recovering from the concussion, of course. Turning toward the bed, he began unbuttoning his long night shirt. But then he was suddenly hit with a wave of self-consciousness. It was odd, how in the presence of Oz, this action felt shameful. As if he were back in the Nightray mansion undressing for Master Nightray, and the blond were watching him do so. His fingers trembled along the buttons, barely managing to pop them through the holes. For Master Nightray, it was easy, practiced, it didn't mean anything. He'd simply endure until the man had finished his business, then he'd redress. Sometimes he'd shiver from a draft, but he always managed to fixate on a passage he'd read earlier; something warm, innocent, everything that he now wasn't. He hesitated on the last few buttons. As the collar started to slip off his shoulder, a thought jolted him back to reality and he quickly grabbed it. If Oz saw...

"Gil, are you... alright?" he asked gently.

"F-fine, um..." His only way out of this was to feign simple embarrassment at changing in front of someone else. That was normal enough, right? At least it didn't seem like the noble saw anything... "Can you..."

"_Shy_, Gil~?" he teased, but it thankfully resulted in the opposite of the intended effect on Gil. The trembling in his hands ceased and he could breathe once again.

"Master..."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be in the other room."

* * *

Oz leaned his forehead on the cool wood of his wardrobe, and his eyes followed the patterns of the grain beneath the stain. The truth is, he _did_ see it. And Gil's trembling, his suddenly nervous behavior, his jerky action of hiking up the sleeve so his back wouldn't show... it was obvious that he saw something he wasn't supposed to. A deep, dark red, almost purple, circular mark marred his shoulder. It was about the diameter of the width of his index finger. He couldn't imagine what had caused it, but it looked pretty serious even though it had long since healed. It made him angry to know that something, _someone_, marked him and his perfect porcelain skin. He had half a mind to stalk back in there and demand answers, if only so he could hunt the culprit down. He had an idea already...

"Fuck," he whispered at the top of his lungs and took a deep breath. Pity (although prevalent) and revenge wouldn't ever heal that scar or the raven himself. Tucking the thoughts away, he made short work of his nightshirt and shorts and slipped into fresh clothing for the day. But that mark wouldn't leave the immediate vicinity of the forefront of his mind; what could cause a mark like that?

* * *

Oz heard the familiar timbre of Break's voice even before he and Gil reached the breakfast hall and an uneasy feeling crept into his stomach (as per usual when Break was around).

"Ah, Oz, we were just talking about you~" the white-haired man sang with lidded eyes as they entered. Sharon nodded pleasantly at them both from her place beside Break; she looked stiffer than usual although her usual smile was in place.

Oz mumbled a "ah, good morning" as he sat down, reaching for a bread roll. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gil escaping toward the kitchen – old habits die hard with this one – and grabbed the back of his shirt with his other hand. Gil grunted as he was forced into the seat next to him at the table, obviously reluctant to do so. But he didn't complain, for once.

Alice gulped down a glass of orange juice to wash down her sausage and loudly expressed her contentment with her meal. She didn't seem to notice how uncomfortable Sharon was. To Oz, it was a good indication of what they had been discussing prior to his entrance.

"Hm, not talkative this morning, I see," Break drawled, "Well, Alice was just telling me about your wedding~. Or maybe more like _lack_ of wedding."

The blond noble inwardly blanched, almost dropping his fork, before realizing that Break hadn't meant it quite the way it sounded. It felt like an ice cube had been placed down the back of his shirt; he hadn't spoken with Alice yet, and there's no way she could know, unless she'd somehow deduced it like Sharon had. Holding onto a secret like this was more troublesome than he'd ever expected.

He cleared his throat, "Yes, we haven't really started preparing too much yet. It'll be a small event and spring is just a tentative date anyway..."

Looking up, his mouth went dry at the looks he was getting from the two girls across the table. That was clearly the wrong thing to say. He avoided eye contact with Sharon who looked more than displeased with his dishonesty, and locked eyes with Alice, but it was impossible to tell what she was thinking. After a moment, she stayed silent and went back to eating. Her silence itself was a good indication that he'd somehow screwed up royally. They all resumed munching on their food.

"You'd think now would be a good time to begin planning with Alice visiting-"

"_Break_, would you mind kindly passing me a roll?" Sharon interrupted, her eyes crinkling in the corners as she eyed him threateningly.

Her usual smile took up residence on her face and she inadvertently caught the eye of Gil, who was watching this whole exchange in wonderment. Oz realized he was probably just as uncomfortable with discussing the wedding in front of Gil as he was lying to Alice about it, which saturated him with guilt all over again. He didn't want to hurt either one of them.

Looking for a distraction, he glanced over at the raven's empty plate and promptly plopped a large helping of eggs onto it. Frowning at its loneliness, he then added a croissant, some sausages, a muffin, potatoes, and reached for a danish... then almost jumped at the warm hand on his wrist.

"M-master, that's more than enough."

Blinking down at the mound of food on the plate, he answered reflexively, "Ah, sorry," and realized just how distracted he was to be apologizing to _Gil_ for overfeeding him. Said servant eyed him curiously before hesitantly picking up his fork and, thankfully, beginning to eat what he could. This was actually only the second time they'd eaten together despite Oz insisting he do so on a regular basis. Maybe he was making progress lifting out that overly professional demeanor from the timid young man. Or maybe he was just being polite in front of their guests. Either way, however irrelevant, he didn't appreciate how Sharon was looking between the two of them, her eyes lingering on Gil for just a moment too long. At least the wedding subject was decidedly dropped. For now.

Soaking in the heavy silence, he spaced out while nibbling on the edge of a muffin and marveled at the pinks and purples of the sky beyond the garden. Maybe he and Alice would take a walk today, maybe he could muster up the courage to tell her...

"Well~," Break's voice cut the air like a knife, "I received an interesting telephone call this morning."

Oz let his eyes slide over to him from behind his muffin. Break had his head lazily resting backward on the edge of his backrest, so his one red eye peeked out from under his hair. His fingers laced together loosely over his crossed legs. The blond figured his attention should be enough to prompt him to continue, but this was Break.

He disentangled his teeth from the crumbling muffin he was barely eating in his hand.

"Yeah?" he prompted impatiently. Break smirked slightly; Oz never liked the feeling of being under observation. Were his mannerisms really so interesting?

Break grabbed a handful of chocolates – which must've been specially requested because they never had chocolates at breakfast – and shoved one in his mouth. Gil wrinkled his nose at him.

"I figured – you might like to know – that a certain ex-Nightray servant – is being hunted for by the police," he said, taking his time, swirling his chocolate around his mouth between every few words. Oz grew more than aggravated. He narrowed his eyes.

"What do you mean?"

"I _mean_ that the police have been asking around about your dear servant. I'm surprised that _you_ didn't get a call as well."

He and Gil shared a sidelong glance and the raven shook his head signaling he didn't know of any such phone call. He'd have to remember to remind him not to pick up the phone later.

His aggravation deserted him, making room for a detached sort of anxiety.

"Did they mention any leads?"

Break popped another chocolate into his mouth.

"No, the police in this town are useless," he said flippantly, "After all, how was it that you managed to sneak a bloody kid out of a mansion swimming with them?"

Thinking back to that night, he smirked slightly, smugly, able to relax a little with Break's reassurance (after all, there was very little this man didn't know). "I played drunk and asked one to fetch me a bucket."

"Played drunk? For what?" Alice asked.

"_That's_ what you did?" Gil asked in disbelief at such a novice plan.

Break laughed, simultaneously impressed that he could pull such a simple stunt and amused. "Have you ever even _been_ drunk, brat?"

Oz snorted, "Why would I need to if I can just _act_ drunk?"

Gil was still skeptical, "Wasn't he suspicious at all?"

"Oz?" Alice whined, ignored.

The blond waved his hand, "Nah, it was foolproof. I mean, I reeked of alcohol anyway. And when he came back to an empty hallway he'd figure I was too drunk to remember I asked him for a bucket at all."

"Are you sure he wouldn't remember you?"

Still reveling in pride from his accomplishment, he shrugged off Gil's concerned tone, "There are plenty of blonds about."

"But it's not just your hair, master," he sighed.

"Hm, Gilbert has a good point. I wouldn't be so sure about that. With some digging, green eyes and blond hair could lead back to the Vessalius house. Your eye color, if nothing else, is rather unique," Break commented, "What do you think, milady?"

Sharon, who'd been quiet until now, spoke up, "I agree with Gilbert, Oz, you're not entirely in the clear."

With his confidence declining rapidly, he nodded.

"Will someone tell me what's going on?" Alice huffed.

Oz smiled gently at her, "Sorry, Alice. I never explained it to you. The night I took Gil in, he was hurt, badly, and I had to act drunk to get him out of the party so the police wouldn't find him."

She frowned, "What about his master?"

The blond looked at Gil for confirmation that it was okay to tell, something the raven seemed to appreciate. He nodded.

"His master... was the one that hurt him," he said reluctantly.

As expected, the mood of the group turned sullen.

"Why would he do that?"

Sometimes Alice could be so naïve it was a little heartbreaking.

Gil spoke up, "Alice, I'm fine-"

"But that isn't fair!" she said, standing up with her fists on the table. Sharon stood as well to comfort her.

"We know it's not fair, that's why we won't let his old master find him here."

Her voice, as always, sent an instant calming effect over the table. Glancing at Gil, they shared a small smile at Alice's caring nature. His hand itched to move toward him, but he ignored it. Gil's smile waned quickly though.

"Master, there's actually something else. Suppose that policeman remembered your face _and_ Elliot were to place you near me in Reveille..."

"Elliot? Elliot Nightray?" Sharon asked from her place at the brooding Alice's side.

"Um, yeah."

Oz spoke up. "He came up to me at your party the other weekend saying he recognized me from Reveille. He started spewing a bunch of detective crap, saying he was investigating Gil's disappearance." At her wary look, he felt the need to add, "But I think I talked him out of it. He gave me his card and stopped bugging me."

"His card?"

"Don't ask."

"Saw you in Reveille? Were you in Reveille?" Break asked.

Oz scratched at the back of his head meekly, "Uh, yeah. I had Gil disguised as my master, but if you think _I_ stand out..."

"...he definitely does," Sharon agreed gravely.

"Actually, we went there yesterday and some policemen followed us into the same store. We escaped out the back."

He felt guilty at how quickly his paranoia had faded to a point where he would take Gil to such a public area.

"That was my fault, he told me not to leave the carriage-"

"It's _not_ your fault, idiot. Anyway, they spent a while interrogating the shopkeeper from what we saw."

Break hummed, "Do you think he talked?"

Oz ground his teeth together, ruminating on the subject, "I'm not sure. I'm a returning, well-paying customer, so it seems unlikely. But if he wanted to avoid trouble then..."

"Good news is if they spent a while pestering him, it's more likely he didn't talk."

The blond sighed and sagged onto his elbow.

"I hope so..."

Alice spoke up, "Do you think that little twerp told anyone about this?"

Before Oz could reply, Gil defended his friend in a softer tone than he usually used to address Alice, "He's _not_ a twerp. But if he saw us in Reveille then chances are he was with his father, the Duke. He doesn't really talk to M- er, his brother much. I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't even know I was missing at the time..."

Oz nodded along, but felt a fresh pang of irritation when he heard what was surely the beginnings of "Master Nightray." It was only a habitual way of referring to his ex-master, he told himself.

Break put their findings together: "So far, it seems we need to be wary of the policeman, the shopkeeper, Bernard Nightray, and Elliot Nightray... anyone else?"

The room went grimly silent as they all contemplated who might know of Gilbert's whereabouts. But no one came up with anyone other than those listed. Regardless, the odds were already against them.

"Hmm, well, if miraculously none of them talk, you should be in the clear as long as your servant here never again sees the light of day~," Break joked satirically. Oz found some contentment in watching Sharon strike him in the back of the head with her paper fan.

He felt the need to reassure his servant, "I'm sorry, Gil, I'm sure this'll blow over..."

The raven smiled weakly in return, "Yeah."

He didn't seem convinced. What was it that was so important to Benedict Nightray for Gil not to tell...?

"Your master was a Nightray? And you haven't charged his place yet, Oz?" Alice demanded.

Sharon smiled, she was always so patient, "It's not that easy, Alice," she placated. And much more threateningly, she said to Break before he could open his mouth, "And I will not condone any encouragement."

The silver-haired man pouted playfully in response, "Aw, that's no fun, milady~. And anyway, I was only going to ask Gilbert if he were ready to train. We are terribly behind schedule, I'm afraid."

"And whose fault is that?" Gil quipped. The raven then looked down at his half-eaten plate in distress. Oz was about to tell him it was okay to leave it, it was way too much food for anyone, but he forgot that his current fiancee wasn't just _anyone _when it came to food.

"Are you going to eat that, Seaweed-head?"

Gil looked half torn between relief and offense, but ultimately he shook his head and handed the plate to the practically drooling girl across the table.

"I guess... I'm ready then."


	22. Chapter XX: Boundaries

**Raven, Abducted**

**Warning: **abuse including implied rape of a minor, OOC, AU, tons of angst and fluff

**A/N:** I felt a little bad updating with a long plot-ridden chapter after such a long break, so- enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter XX: Boundaries**

* * *

Gil and Break excused themselves from the table and headed out toward the ballroom. Immediately, for multiple reasons, Oz's stomach started feeling queasy. The intense guilt he'd been feeling knowing he'd have to break up with Alice was weighing in, even more so with Sharon breathing down his neck. But... he couldn't, right? Sharon was here. But maybe, that was for the best, in case things went badly...

But would they? He wasn't even sure Alice truly _wanted_ to marry him, if that necklace around her neck was any indication. He could just barely make out a few links of gold from his spot across the table from where it peeked out from under her collar. She and Sharon were giggling contentedly over something they were discussing – a book, perhaps – and studying her smile made him bury all his previous thoughts. For now, he would let her smile a little longer. Maybe he could just... avoid all wedding related conversations. He'd been doing a decent job until this morning, anyhow. Although... the formal reason for Alice's visit _was_ to begin planning the wedding. Hell, the Barmas spent a year building a chapel specially designed for their eldest daughter's wedding. Was that the kind of thing people expected from his wedding...?

He tried to picture it; it was easy to imagine Alice looking beautiful in her wedding dress. It would be entirely covered in hand-threaded lace, and would fan out around her wrists and hips elegantly. He'd wear his finest double-breasted black suit and ask her to dance. It almost felt natural. But then they'd have to kiss to seal their devotion, and that's where the pleasant image began to shrivel into one that filled him with apprehension. Actually, they kissed before, just to try it, many years ago. Teenage curiosity. It felt nice, but somehow fell short of his expectations. Maybe his expectations were set too high. Briefly, his eyes flickered over to Alice, wondering if she still expected affection like that. He hadn't offered any since they were at least fourteen. That wedding kiss...

This is where the worn-out fantasy shattered every time. He'd glance over her shoulder and feel guilt at a whole another level at the gold eyes that stared back at him. Disappointment, pain, jealousy, outweighed by pride and adoration. If he kissed her then and gave her the half of himself she was asking for, how could he ever face them again?

It took him a while to realize: being with Alice felt wrong. There was something dry and forced about the whole situation. When he was younger, he thought that romantic feelings were something that would cultivate with age, but in this case... the love they felt for each other was as platonic as ever.

It didn't take years to fall in love. This was a truth he was beginning to realize. Maybe all it took was a chance meeting.

Why did he feel so unfulfilled?

Pressing his palms against the edge of the table, he stood, then quietly excused himself. Ignoring the two silent girls staring wonderingly at his back as he left, he made his way toward the garden. He needed fresh air.

* * *

After sunset, after many hours lounging alone, Oz looked up from his book when he heard a knock on the doorframe between his room and Gil's.

"Hey, Gil," he greeted casually. To be honest, though, he'd been craving his presence all day.

Gil stood hesitantly in the doorway, as if it took a great deal of courage to interrupt Oz from his reading.

"Master," he said, reclining his head. "I just… well, is everything okay?"

He answered reflexively, a bit stunned at the random question, "Yeah, I'm fine, why?"

"O-oh, I see, then... I'm glad. Goodnight," he said then bowed by means of farewell.

Maybe his answer was too dismissive...

"Hey, wait, you should come in if you want," he offered quietly.

His hands felt slightly clammy for some reason. Gil looked up and nodded before stepping in, so Oz replaced his bookmark and set his Holy Knight volume down on the nightstand. When he looked up, the other was still standing awkwardly a few feet in front of the door.

The blond rolled his eyes and ordered in exasperation, "I told you to _come in. _You're ridiculous sometimes, you know."

He couldn't recall Gil ever being in his room before, though, at least not without purpose. Usually, Oz would be the one to seek out his company in the other room. His eyes flickered pointedly from Gil's to the bedspread next to him. Cautiously, he ventured over to the bed and sat down on the edge where the oil lamp on his bedside table illuminated the white sheets in a soft orange glow. Oz sat with his legs crossed, facing him. He had trouble keeping his eyes off the shadows in the folds of his white shirt, then upwards to the tip of his ear which peeked out from beneath his curls. They skimmed over his face, and Oz wondered if his eyelashes were long enough to skim his cheeks when he blinked.

"Why do I seem like I'm not okay?" he asked, breaking the silence, moistening his dry lips.

"It's just that earlier you skipped lunch and no one saw you until dinnertime..." He looked down at his lap, fidgeting with his gloves. "Alice and Sharon were worried about you as well."

Oz hummed, rocking a bit on his feet with his hands wound around his knees. "I kind of lost track of time in the garden, and when I came in I... decided to nap for a bit. I didn't think I'd sleep that long."

That wasn't entirely true; when he awoke he simply laid in silence and watched the wind sway the curtains beside the window, reveling in having a rare moment to himself in which his thoughts were blissfully scarce in number.

"Oh."

Gil stared at the floor. Oz fully expected him to leave it at just that.

"You've been acting strange," he said simply.

The blond straightened up, studying the side of the partially hair-obscured pale face. He could see grayish-purple half-moon circles beneath his eyes (which were more common than he was comfortable with), and absentmindedly focused on the delicate ridges of his mouth. "Strange?"

"Just... distant, maybe."

Oz teased, raising a brow the other wouldn't see, "Oh? Miss me already, Gil? It was only one day.~"

Red dusted the raven's cheeks and he glanced to the side away from him with a meek little grimace, but his voice was serious, "It's not like that."

Oz's smile faded into one that was thoughtful. "If it seems that way, then I'm sorry."

The response was answered with silence. Oz nibbled on the inside of his lip. Gil was practically sliding off the bed.

"Will you stop being so stubborn and actually _sit_ on the bed? Here," he said, scooting himself over to the other side so the raven could take his spot.

Instead of apologizing or refusing, he just looked at him searchingly. "Do you actually..."

Gil bit his lip, but didn't finish the question. He seemed frustrated with himself and released a quick breath.

"Actually what_?_" he prompted, curious.

"Do you actually _want_ me here?" he asked quietly. There was no malice behind the words, just pure wonder.

Oz chewed on his lip. Reassurance was _not_ his forte.

"That depends."

"On what?"

"On whether you're going to continue to be difficult," he teased. Teasing seemed to be his default coping mechanism... Actually, things would be easier if he would leave. Maybe his pulse would decrease to something manageable. Maybe he wouldn't feel as if he were about to do something life-altering.

Gil let out a breath. Oz almost felt guilty, knowing that asking such a question in the first place probably took a lot of effort to voice. Amazingly, Gil stood, then resituated himself in the spot that Oz just vacated, with his legs similarly crossed beneath him.

"Happy, master?" he smiled a little in slight exasperation, and a bit of the side Oz especially esteemed showed through his timidity. The sides of his mouth upturned without delay in response. Mulling over the words in his head, though, the hint of a smile faded.

"Why do you call me that?"

"What, 'master'?" he asked, confused.

"Yeah. Are you so against calling me Oz that you refuse to even call me Master Oz now?"

Gil's eyes widened. "That's not... that's what you think? I-I guess it was sort of like that at first, but now I call you that because... well... it seemed more personal. You're my only master, after all..."

His voice was practically silent on the last words. When they sunk in, Oz's blood pressure rose until he could feel his pulse in his cheeks. He sighed and fell over onto his side, cuddling into the unturned blankets and the cold fabric of the pillow on the side of the bed he didn't normally sleep on.

"You're so embarrassing, Gil."

"I- wha-" he blanched, then glanced away timidly. "You _asked_."

That seemed to release some of the tension in the room, though, because they both openly grinned at each other. It always took some coaxing, but he could at least manage to make Gil relax around him now. In the next moment, Oz sat up with his knees facing him. Since this morning, he'd been mulling over the cause of that scar. Not to mention it was highly probable there were more he hadn't seen. He had never seen the raven even partially undressed; even his nightclothes fully covered his legs. Gil must've sensed the change in atmosphere because his expression slowly dissolved into a look of concern.

"_It's okay to not know how you feel, Oz. Just work from what you _know_ you feel..."_

With Sharon's voice ringing in his head, without entirely knowing _why,_ but deciding to just _do,_ he reached for one of Gil's hands and held it with both of his. Maybe it was because he was afraid he'd lose him, whether emotionally or physically, after asking this question, or because he simply felt the need to be _closer_. Either way, he kept his eyes averted in both embarrassment and reluctance to hurt him. To stall just a little longer, he studied the gloved hand and ran his thumb along the seams. He felt the muscles ripple beneath his touch. Gil didn't say anything, but his unspoken questions were clear. Oz heard him swallow nervously. But it wasn't enough; the glove felt like a physical barrier to the answers to his own questions. Some pertaining to the scars and some not. So he gripped the edge and peeled it off, still keeping his eyes downward distractedly. If he were to glance up now, he'd lose his nerve. Cradling the unbound pale fleshy hand between his own fingers, he absentmindedly noted how freezing it was. Very much unlike earlier when Gil grabbed his wrist at the breakfast table. Enough stalling...

"Uh, Gil," he began, but continued before he received a response, while he still had a voice, "I know... you didn't want me to, but," he swallowed, "I saw... that scar on your back."

He felt the muscles in his hand stiffen, and subconsciously tightened his grip a bit.

After a pause, Gil responded, "Oh."

His voice sounded much too nonchalant.

"It's nothing, just a mild burn."

"From what?"

Gil didn't seem ready for that question.

"Uh..."

Swallowing his aggravation, he let his forehead drop onto Gil's shoulder, feeling him tense beneath him. Oz's cheeks reddened a bit, wondering if he were pushing their boundaries with his actions, but mostly he relaxed. He felt almost heady at the scent that overwhelmed him when he disturbed Gil's shirt and the way his cool shoulder gathered his warmth greedily. "It's not as if you're at fault, you know," he said quietly, the words almost icy.

He paused, but the other still seemed torn.

"Besides, you told me yesterday you'd trust me with your past. What are you so afraid of?" he practically whispered, a bit more honest than he meant to be.

"I'm... worried of ruining your image of me," he admitted sullenly, his fingers clenching inbetween his hands briefly.

Oz furrowed his brow as he struggled to understand, then lifted his head, "Are you saying I don't know you?"

"No, not at all," he quickly rebutted, staring at him seriously, "I've actually... never felt so open with anyone before." His face reddened slightly with his honesty.

"Did you ever have anyone to talk to?"

"Other than Elliot, not really. There were some maids my age, but they didn't want much to do with me..."

"Why not?"

"They were jealous of my position in the household, said I had perks over them. I didn't, though. I don't know why he chose _me_, when he always complained I was male. He had plenty of female maids to choose from..."

Oz listened quietly as Gil outlined the servant hierarchy of his ex-master. Those gold eyes were clouded and pained, but the way he spoke was so matter-of-fact it was almost like he didn't fully realize just how much it hurt him to talk about this. Somewhere along the line, they'd moved closer to each other so their knees touched; the physical connection seemed to uncloud that gaze, if only just a little. At times his hand would tighten in his. It seemed to give him something to focus on to keep him grounded in the present.

He paused after exhausting all his information on the servants he spoke to.

"Did he... treat you worse than the other servants?"

Gil's eyes widened as he touched on the subject he clearly wanted to avoid. Oz hoped his expression was reassuring enough, but it wasn't. Gil flinched and made to release his hand, as if to shrink away from him; that was their relationship, always shrinking and growing. He panicked. If anyone were distant, it was Gil. The raven who wouldn't trust him, who refused to call him by name, hardly the same one that shed tears for him at night, the one overcome by envy. He wanted fulfillment, and most importantly wanted to know why every time he imagined his wedding kiss, it wasn't Alice's mouth on his...

Without thinking, he tightened his grip on Gil's hand and brought it up to his own cheek as he slowly moved forward with purpose, not quite sure of his actions. Just feeling. Just _doing._ His other hand trembled and he made a fist in the sheets to lean his weight on. Watery gold met anxious green and he gave the hand on his cheek one last squeeze before his lips descended steadily onto his.


	23. Chapter XXI: Adequate

**Raven, Abducted**

**Warning: **abuse including implied rape of a minor, OOC, AU, tons of angst and fluff

**A/N:** I hope... I hope you'll like this chapter. Thank you for the feedback!

* * *

**Chapter XXI: Adequate**

* * *

All Gilbert knew is that Oz had kissed him. It didn't even occur to him to kiss back; they sat with their mouths pressed together, eyes wide and faces flushed. At first he assumed Oz had simply lost his balance, but after a few tension-filled seconds Oz's eyes fluttered shut as the hand holding him up on the bed clenched in the sheets. It was deliberate, and _soft_; Gilbert was trapped, unable, _unwilling_ to pull away, and eventually he must've let out a sound of delayed surprise because Oz's eyes opened and he slowly put space between them, dropping Gilbert's hand from where it pressed into his cheek. Gilbert barely recalled muttering a quiet goodnight, nor leaning up against the door between their rooms, but he did remember placing his fingertips against his lips and the lingering ache in his chest as he fell into a restless sleep, still in shock.

* * *

…

…

…

They didn't talk about it.

In fact, it had been over a week since the... incident. Things didn't quite end up the way Oz expected them to. That is, not including how in his inexperience he forgot to account for their noses and how their lips didn't quite interfold like he imagined... (But those were only cringe-worthy details that haunted him in privacy.) Most notably his feelings didn't quite fall into place like he thought they would. But it was obvious now that he... well, he wanted to do it again. And properly this time. He panicked and acted and barely gave Gil a chance to reject him if he so wished. He never even got an answer to his question...!

And as for the raven, he bolted. When Oz pulled away a mere ten seconds later, their faces equally flushed to the brim, their eyes equally panicked. And then Gil pressed a hand to his mouth and the blond ran a hand sheepishly through his hair. No words other than a quiet goodnight were exchanged. He even let Gil close the door between them that night, but judging from his zombified state, he probably didn't even notice himself closing it. And as for Oz, he ran his fingertips over his lips in a daze. When was the last time he let himself do something out of impulse? Not that he regretted it... not at all... even though Gil seemed to be on a mission to forget the incident ever occurred.

Sometimes, it hurt. One gesture was enough to flood his thoughts with insecurities and doubt, with the way his valet brushed him off. Gil made even more of an effort to leave him alone with Alice now, and when he sat on the kitchen counter to watch him cook, he'd pause only to wordlessly make him tea before resuming. It was like their connection went dead.

But then there were other times, the majority of the time, when it seemed like Gil couldn't keep his eyes off him. He'd catch those expressive gold eyes staring as if studying him to the most miniscule of details. And when he noticed Oz looking back, he'd quickly avert them with that deep blush Oz delighted in producing. But it would be coupled with a small smile; Oz could only describe it as subtly flirtatious. It made his chest throb and he felt lightheaded each time one of those smiles graced those lips. But those moments were maddening when they were combined with these mixed signals that grated on his nerves in the most despairing of ways.

He spent a lot of time with Alice in the past week. And it was becoming obvious just how _little_ effort he was putting into the wedding. In fact, she hadn't brought up the subject even once since that one morning's breakfast. It filled him steadily with guilt, _knowing_ it was his fault but being too much of a coward to tell her. But sometimes, contemplating the subject, he'd grow irrationally irritated because he _knew_ she wasn't being entirely honest with him about her own feelings. How could she spend the rest of her life with someone she maybe loved but wasn't _in love_ with? She deserved better.

But he was just making excuses. He was stalling.

She was beautiful, inside and out. He adored her, he really did. Anything to make Alice happy. Except...

No. She'd be happy, at least in the long term. He'd make sure of it, especially when he was about to ruin her perceived future. Not to mention it'd put her visit here to waste... But he hoped she was content, just like this, for now, on this pleasant March day where they sat on the hill behind the mansion just before afternoon tea. There was a slight breeze that sent distracting goosebumps over his arms and made his hair tickle his ears. But it was nice. His tie lay askew over his open vest, his shirt unbuttoned just slightly at the top. It was probably improper in front of company, but this was Alice. It was the first day this year he'd been able to get away with wearing no coat.

Alice told him about Germany and her siblings there and he nodded and smiled at all the right points, throwing in his two cents where appropriate. Lying back on the blanket by her side, he stretched a hand out and marveled at the sunlight shining between the cracks between his fingers. They were red, like the blood running through them. He was listening, but he was distracted by how perfect this moment would be for him to break it to her gently... But in the distance he heard a door close and he leaned up on his elbows to see Gil on his way with a tray of tea and he barely suppressed a smile.

Oh, how the guilt would threaten to eat him alive later. Another chance lost, and it was of his own doing.

"Are you even listening, Oz?" she huffed.

"I am," he said with a chuckle, throwing her a sideways grin. It was so easy to smile around Alice. Would he lose her completely?

"Then what was I talking about?" She poked at his cheek and jutted out her mouth childishly.

"Hey, stop that!" He swatted her hand away, "You were talking about how your mother's parties always turn into drinking contests between the men."

"- _and_ the women," she corrected, but she smiled, amused and pleased that he was listening.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, master, and Alice, but I've brought your tea," Gil said, placing the tray next to Alice.

"Seaweed-head," she greeted with a nod.

Oz didn't know if it was his imagination or not, but Gil seemed to be looking everywhere but at him. He hoisted himself up with a sigh and propped his elbow on a knee.

"Thanks, Gil."

Gil's eyes flickered from Oz to Alice, then back to the former. "You're welcome, master, is there anything else-"

"You should stay," he said immediately, another impulsive reply. Yes, another chance lost, and _definitely _of his own doing.

The raven looked uncertainly between the two of them, but Alice had two cookies already hanging halfway out of her mouth and she barely seemed to acknowledge him. So he planted himself down on the corner of the blanket. He seemed to be much more subordinate lately; Oz wondered why, but he definitely wasn't complaining.

The blond grabbed a cracker and cracked it in half noisily with his teeth, the palm on his chin pressing into his cheek in a casual manner.

"And don't call me that, or you'll make me regret making you my personal servant," he teased, the usual game. But he didn't expect the response.

"You wouldn't," the raven smirked shyly. Oz practically choked on his cracker and stared at Gil in amazement before snorting.

"Well excuse _you_, Gil," he said between chuckles.

Once his laughter died down, the three settled into an unsettling silence. But it was very possible he was the only one feeling awkward. Why had he asked Gil to sit with them? Was it politeness, an excuse to stall his talk with Alice even _more_, or was he just missing his new best friend? More than likely, it was the latter two.

"Have some tea," he said, breaking the silence.

"I-I'm fine, I only brought two cups..."

Again, Gil didn't _refuse_, he simply refuted with the logic that he only brought cups for Alice and himself. It was an interesting and bewildering development.

Alice swallowed down a handful of cookies at once before thrusting her unused cup at him. "Take mine," she said, "I'm going in."

Gil still looked hesitant, and now guilty, probably thinking he was the reason Alice decided to leave. She rolled her eyes and thrust it in his face again. Finally, he reached out and accepted it from her. "Thanks, Alice."

She didn't look like she was expecting such a polite response. Most anyone else would think she were cold with how she flicked her hair as she stood to leave muttering "stupid servants who don't listen to their masters" under her breath. But Oz knew better and smiled fondly at her embarrassment at having been caught doing something nice for Gil.

But now she was gone and the tension that followed the two of them around like a cloud descended, and Oz flopped backward onto the blanket as the raven filled his teacup. This is actually exactly where he wanted to be, but they were hardly in a private area, seeing as how the hill overlooked the mansion. Instead, he closed his eyes and fiddled with the pocket-watch in his pocket with his other hand resting across his stomach, content with the silence. His stomach was doing flip-flops, but it wasn't entirely unpleasant.

"Aren't you cold, master?" Gilbert inquired. It was true, the breeze grew a bit chillier as the sun descended a bit more.

Oz decided to be childish and not answer to that name. He could practically hear Gil roll his eyes; the slight smirk on Oz's lips was a dead giveaway. He didn't ask again, much to the blond's dismay.

He felt light pressure on his face and the world went dark. Reflexively, he reached up and tugged the offending object up so he could see. Gil's hat.

He smirked, aware of the other's reasoning, but meant to tease, "Am I that ugly, Gil?"

"Wait, wha- I- it's sunny!" he squawked indignantly.

"I'm only joking," he chuckled, fingering the brim and looking upwards at the blue expanse now riddled with pinks and oranges. He found that he much preferred gold.

Speaking of which, he glanced at Gil in time to see him avert his eyes from him to his tea. He took a moment to stare back. If anyone needed a hat in the sun, it was Gil, with his porcelain skin that was even paler than his own. Those eyes, usually so expressive and open, were unreadable as he chewed on the skin of his inner lip. He could just barely make out hints of hazel interlaced in the gold of his irises. And his nose, perfectly shaped for his slightly angular face crumpled up just a little at the bridge. In the sun like this, he was even more radiant than usual. If only they weren't in view of the mansion...

He spoke, and Oz's eyes fell to his lips, "She's a nice person," he said simply.

The blond blinked heavily. It took him a moment to realize he was talking about Alice.

"Yeah," he agreed, perplexed.

"How did you meet?"

Oz thought about it, but no particular meeting came to mind.

"We were little; my father does business with the Baskervilles, and her father before he died. But then she moved to Germany to stay with her mother..."

"Does she visit often?"

"I suppose... often enough, I guess."

Gil shifted and Oz watched the nibbling on his lip increase.

"So when did... you get engaged?"

The blond felt his neck burn in shame. He coughed.

"It's an arranged marriage that was set up when we were twelve."

"Is it something you wanted?"

He shrugged. "She was my best friend, I didn't mind."

"Oh."

Black hair shaded his eyes from view and Oz abruptly sat up, feeling uneasy. There was nothing in Gilbert's tone to indicate disappointment; it was rather a gut feeling, his own deduction of the sudden change in mood.

This talk of marriage, the "she's a nice person," the weak excuses he made to leave the two of them alone...

"_Is it something you wanted?"_

He froze, recognizing the question for what it really was.

"_Is it something you _want_?"_

"Gil," he practically whispered, "what are you thinking about?"

There was an urgent tone to his voice that was impossible to miss. The question itself, naked and personal as it was, seemed to trigger a suppressed response. Had he not asked it, they might have dropped the subject and simply avoided it, as usual.

Gil didn't say anything, just grit his teeth and looked the other direction. The only other time he'd seen Gil react like this, he was in bed in the dead of night. The raw emotion on his face caramelized by the sun's rays was staggering, blinding even. The two didn't belong together in one place; that porcelain skin was made to be beautiful, not scrunched and broken and fraying along the edges. He wondered if he were to touch it if it would be scathing, abrasive.

"Hey," he breathed, "do you trust me?"

He nodded without hesitation. "Yeah," he whispered, glancing at him in tired confusion. Oz felt his heart swell. An admission like that from someone who has only seen the dark side the world has to offer meant everything.

"Come with me," he said gently, transitioning into a crouch and grabbing the raven's hand. He didn't protest.

They walked a few minutes; Oz led him down to the garden by the side of the mansion where there were less windows and more towering plants. It was a maze of sorts. He and Ada used to play hide-and-go-seek in here when they were young. And now, it was still perfectly maintained. The maze was set up around a courtyard with wrought iron chairs and tables and an outdoor chess set that lay cracked and unused. He remembered each and every turn from his childhood escapades, and pulled Gil by the sleeve to the heart of the maze, a part that was partially shaded from the sun. There were ivy-covered brick walls on either side with rose bushes peeking around the corner. This was always his favorite spot. Taking off Gil's hat, he placed it on the edge of one of the bushes for safekeeping.

"Mas-"

"Oz," he said definitively, sending a disapproving look, "If you must, you can switch back later, but for now... just call me Oz."

Gil swallowed and took in his surroundings.

"Then... Oz, where are we?"

The noble stepped ahead, his hands clasped behind his back, and turned back just slightly to gauge the other's reaction to the change in scenery.

"My secret garden."

The raven looked at him, bewildered.

Oz grinned slightly, his eyes glittering, "I know it's a cliche; it's something we came up with when we were little. Ada and I used to play here."

"It's... wow."

He watched the raven appreciate the craftsmanship of his gardener and his heart began to race.

"But why...?"

"Gil, what were you thinking just earlier?" he interrupted and took a step toward him. The raven's eyes latched onto his face, having to look up just barely.

Oz took another step closer.

"Alice, she..." But Gil's voice trailed off. What was he even saying? He couldn't think, not with the blond closing on him; couldn't breathe, couldn't move. His eyes involuntarily skimmed the other's face, and his mouth, and his face was hot, his whole body aflame at the intimacy of the situation. This situation and change of scenery was so obviously orchestrated; Oz was serious, and wanted him alone, and that meant... His tongue felt thick, like it didn't quite fit in his mouth.

"Yeah?"

Another step closer.

Gil flattened himself against the ivy-covered wall behind him, trapped and dizzied. If not for the wall, he was sure his knees would give out. But he was not afraid, not at all, just a bundle of nerves twisted and wanting and waiting and resisting.

"She'll..."

His hand clenched around a tangle of ivy; he could feel the leaves teasing at his hair. Whatever he was saying, he didn't really believe it anymore. But Oz persisted.

"She'll...?"

Closer. So close now that the blond's hands reached forward to cover each of his, unclenching them from the ivy to instead hold them gently in his own grasp. Was Oz trembling or was that himself...? All Gil could see now was his mouth. It was going to happen again, it was, and he felt lightheaded. He shivered, but not from the cold.

"She'll make you happy," he finally relented, but it didn't mean anything- _mmph._

_Oz._

On his mouth and in his hands, which gripped his to ground himself, and to his own horror he felt his lips part slightly, meshing the two pairs together. Oz gripped him tighter in response and he felt a puff of breath on his cheek just before he stepped an inch closer until Gil was sure they were almost touching. It was clumsy, but Oz started a rhythm of brushing their lips together that made his toes curl and his heart twist painfully.

And it was wrong precisely because it was Oz, but not _just _Oz.

But in this moment, he felt that maybe he was more than just Gil.

Oz, in turn, never expected Gil to participate. And every time their mouths met, he anxiously expected the other to pull away, tell him this isn't right, they shouldn't be doing this... The disappointment would be crippling.

Because to him, this was long overdue; something that inevitably budded years ago, but was faithlessly smothered by his own stubborn fears. And now, with the raven so embedded in his life, the thought of returning to his formerly comfortable life of solitude filled him to the brim with dread.

What he really wanted wasn't just to protect him anymore, but to give him everything he had to offer.

He pressed that much harder to get his message across. This garden smelled like the raven; fresh and floral, slightly saturated with dew. His mouth was soft, his lips just barely dry enough to provide a pleasant friction.

But even with this he couldn't help but wonder, wallowing in inadequacy:

_Gil, did he leave any part of you for me?_


End file.
